SG1 Best Intentions
by Marzipan77
Summary: Set during the 10th Season of SG-1, the team is desperate for information that will lead them to Merlin's weapon, and for allies to assist them in their struggle against Adria and the Ori. You all know what's paved with good intentions, don't you?
1. Chapter 1

Trying to ignore the cramps in her legs and the burning in her lungs, Vala dodged through the darkness, twisting around the jagged branches that grabbed at her green BDUs. The dense forest offered cover from the pursuing Jaffa, but made progress difficult, especially since night fell and the incessant ground fog rose almost to her waist. She stopped to catch her breath, hands resting on her knees, and checked her compass. If this planet didn't have a daily relative humidity of 99 and a continual cloud cover, navigation back to the Stargate would certainly be simpler. Wiping a sleeve across her face, Vala fought against the panic that lurked in her thoughts. There was no time for that, she had to find a way to get them off this world, and quickly. She raised her head, searching the still branches above her head as if for inspiration, an idea – any idea. Her usual plan when faced with pursuing mobs of any nature had been to run – run fast, run far, and run alone. Now, well, now it was different.

She blinked her eyes clear and took a deep breath, straightening her jacket unconsciously. Moving off through the trees slowly now, her eyes sought out the signs she'd left to lead her back. A strangled cough coming from the underbrush to her left startled her into stillness for a moment before she relaxed, lowered her zat, and made her way to the shallow ditch well-hidden beneath thick plants and thicker fog.

"It's me," she whispered, sliding down to rest beside Daniel whose entire body stiffened then relaxed. "How are you doing?"

Daniel Jackson couldn't keep a short laugh from escaping before his lips clamped together in a tight line, choking back a groan. "Great. Just catching up on my kel-no-reem." His right arm was pressed tightly across his ribs almost as if he were physically holding himself together.

"Huh," Vala turned the tip of her penlight and checked the thick bandage circling his right thigh. "Napping in the face of danger, that's my hero," she muttered, her eyes coming to rest on the bright red that was visibly seeping through the layers of gauze, making a trail down his leg. The soil beneath him was saturated with blood. The bleeding must have started again almost as soon as she left him to scout out the enemy location.

Unzipping her jacket, Vala pulled her black shirt out of her pants and hurriedly tore a three-inch strip from around the bottom edge.

Eyes at half-mast behind his glasses, Daniel attempted to raise his eyebrows. "Going for a new look?"

"Oh, yes," Vala quipped, folding the material into a thick pad, "all the girls are doing it." She lifted the bandage away from his leg and slid the cloth over the jagged knife wound; trying to ignore his gasp of pain she pulled the bandage tighter to try to stem the flow of blood. "Actually, I just wanted to see if you were too far gone to appreciate it."

Daniel closed his eyes and smiled, letting his head fall back onto the ground. "Flirting even in the face of certain death, that's what I love about you." His voice trailed off to a whisper.

"Oh, sure," she watched as the flow of blood slowed. "All the men tell me they love me when they've got me on my back in the bushes, but the next morning it's all, 'don't call me, I'll call you.'" Vala switched off the light and lay still to listen to the darkness. "They're still a good ways off. If we move quickly we might be able to…"

With an uncanny sense of direction in the pitch-blackness Daniel grabbed her arm, silencing her. After an entire silent minute went by and his grip started to ease she risked speaking. "What?"

"Don't." He barely breathed the word.

"Don't what?"

"Don't do that."

"Do what?"

Daniel sighed. "Pretend I'm going anywhere."

Pushing herself up Vala brushed the dirt from hair and flipped it behind her back. "I'm not pretending anything, Daniel. If we move now while they're still fighting each other we can make it to the 'gate."

"You can make it to the 'gate," he corrected her.

"No," she began, getting to her knees beside him and taking his right arm with both hands. "We are going to get to the 'gate, dial Earth, and get reinforcements." She shifted her weight, hauling Daniel to a sitting position. "There is no way I'm going without you."

Daniel couldn't help the agonized groan that pushed through his clenched teeth. How could such a tiny little person have so much strength and sheer pig-headedness? Where did she keep it? Every breath came with a new biting pain that sliced through his chest but he braced himself against it and ripped his arm from her grasp. "Vala."

Rocking back on her heels she growled in frustration. "What, Daniel? Do you want me to leave you here, because that is not going to happen," she snapped.

"Yes, it is." Daniel reached up to grasp her shoulder. "You've got to get word to the SGC, get some fire power. We've got one Beretta, empty, one standard issue pack with everything of consequence removed, one knife, one zat gun and a GDO between us, and if I try to stand up I'm just going to start bleeding again, and you know it." He gave her a little shake, his teeth gritted. "Use your head. You can be back in hours with three teams of Marines." When she began to argue he shook her again. "You can go faster alone, hell you were born to work alone. And you know I'm right."

"And what, you're just going to lie here in the bushes until I get back?" That little voice inside her knew he was right, knew he was a liability to her as wounded as he was. She had always been the first to bail out or improvise at any sign of trouble. Vala knew she'd gotten an extra large helping of that instinct for self-preservation at the root of every human being, and experience had given her the wits to escape any number of life-threatening situations one step ahead of her pursuers. Lately she found that instinct swamped by other feelings, other priorities, and the words that Daniel had spoken to her in that warehouse a few weeks ago echoed through her head again, _"You've been running so long it's almost second nature to you. You don't remember it, but you made a decision to __stop__ running. It's over. Now it's time to come home._" It was amazing how a group of people who believed in her changed her entire perspective. Well, that and an unstoppable intergalactic threat.

"Yes." His arm fell from her shoulder and she knew he was gesturing at the unseen forest. "They'll have a hell of a time trying to find me in this muck. They know we're going for the 'gate, so don't think I'm trying to be brave or noble or anything. I'm hiding in the dark while you're taking all the chances."

"Right," she snapped, coldly.

"Besides," he grunted, gingerly lowering himself back to the warm soil, "there's more at stake. And you know it."

She bit the inside of her cheek and propelled herself to her feet. "Fine. I'll head back to sound the alarm, but if I come back and you're dead you are going to have a lot of explaining to do." Turning her back on his sigh of relief she re-zipped her jacket and placed both hands on her hips. "And don't forget, you still owe me dinner."

Forty minutes later, Vala crouched beneath a thick-leaved plant that only partially sheltered her from the driving rain that had been falling for half an hour. The yellow moon had risen, and caused a slight lightening of the clouds overhead, just enough to outline the Stargate against the dark hills that lay behind it. Two Jaffa stood beside the DHD, apparently more interested in watching the 'gate itself than they were worrying about someone slipping up on their position. Well, that made sense, Vala shrugged, since the muscle-bound oafs were convinced that they had completely neutralized SG-1. They weren't far from wrong, unfortunately. She could use their over-confidence against them – it wouldn't be the first time that she took advantage of an enemy's condescension.

A few minutes later, the Jaffa were lying face down in the rain, and Vala was dialing the 'gate to Earth. Hopefully when they woke up they'd tell the others that she and Daniel had both escaped and they'd call off the search. She punched in her iris code and hesitated on the brink of the event horizon, turning to squint into the dark forest. "I'll be right back," she whispered into the night.

Chapter One

One week earlier

Dr. Daniel Jackson left a trail of melted snow behind him from the surface of Cheyenne Mountain all the way to his lab on Level 18 of the underground complex. Winter in Colorado Springs made him long for the scathing desert winds of Abydos, and often kept him at the Stargate Command facility for days on end, just to avoid the bitter chill on the surface. Of course up until a few days ago his single-minded search for Merlin's secret weapon had kept him at the SGC and at his desk for 50 hours straight. Eyes filled with grit and bloodstream teeming with liquid caffeine, it still took two SFs, Mitchell and finally General Landry's face-to-face confrontation to physically drag him from his computer and into an Air Force car for transport back to his neglected apartment. He shook his head, dislodging a few more ice chips from his hair onto the concrete floor as he thought of Mitchell, assigned to sit watchdog so that Daniel wouldn't just continue his research at home. The colonel had seemed truly heartbroken to find out that, not only didn't Daniel have cable, he didn't even own a television. He must have snuck out shortly after Daniel dropped into bed and 14 hours of uninterrupted sleep.

Under orders not to return to the base for 48 full hours, Daniel attempted to embrace the time off to live in the current century for a change, eating real food and catching up on world events, but every so often he'd find himself staring off into the distance while his brain tried out different unlikely anagrams of the words Castianna and Sahal. After checking his cell phone for messages for what seemed like the eighteenth time in less than three hours he'd finally dropped it into the drawer on his nightstand, plopped down on the couch and lost himself in Geoffrey of Monmouth's supposed history of Arthur in the original Latin that had been collecting dust on his shelves for years. Not exactly what Landry might have had in mind, but it was the best that he could do.

Turning the corner to his office, Daniel was pleased to find the room in total darkness. Too many people had been traipsing in and out of this room lately, especially one particularly irritating person, as it had become unofficial anti-Ori central. Flipping on the lights he shrugged out of his parka, scarf, and sweater thinking about how his role on SG-1 had changed over the past ten years. A momentary longing for the days when he was more the token cultural geek on the team than the one everyone turned to for the ultimate solution to defeating intergalactic bad guys swept over him. There had been months at a time when the only other person wondering what he was working on in his lab were Sam and a few of his colleagues on other SG teams. He rubbed at the tension that never really left the back of his neck and wondered how long it would take for someone to show up with the usual question – _any luck? _'Oh, yes, I've found the entire solution to the mystery this morning, I just didn't feel like telling anyone,' he often felt like replying.

Hanging his outerwear to drip dry on a hook in the closet, he turned towards his desk and allowed his eyes to settle on a picture of Share for a moment, but just for a moment. He smiled, turned away and picked up the carafe of his personal coffee pot that someone had been nice enough to clean out while he was gone and headed into the hall in search of cold water. He didn't get very far.

"Daniel Jackson." One large hand reached out to steady Daniel while the other neatly snatched the glass coffee pot from midair. "I did not mean to startle you."

"Hey, Teal'c," Daniel laughed, reaching for the carafe. "No problem. You know for a big guy you don't make a whole lot of noise when you walk."

Falling in beside his friend, Teal'c lowered his head in acknowledgement. "So Colonel Mitchell has told me. You have just returned to the base." It wasn't really a question. For many years Teal'c had made it a point to know where each of his teammates was at any hour. "I am sorry, had I been asked I would have been pleased to escort you to your apartment myself. Colonel Mitchell did not inform me of his plan until I inquired as to your location."

Stopping at the water fountain, Daniel looked up at his friend in surprise. "Were you looking for me? Did you need something?"

"I did not."

Daniel shrugged and turned back to fill the pot. "I'm sure Mitchell didn't think you'd go for kidnapping me and making me leave the base. Probably thought it was easier to keep you in the dark."

"Indeed," Teal'c growled.

Heading back to the lab, Daniel continued. "Don't like it when he throws his weight around?"

"He is not so weighty as he sometimes believes," the Jaffa replied harshly.

"Hey, Jack would have done the same thing," Daniel reminded his friend. "Thinking they know what's best for everyone comes with that little silver thing the Air Force puts on their shoulders." Daniel upended a bag of ground coffee into a filter and shoved it into the top of the coffee maker. When the dark brown liquid was dripping into the pot, he took a good look at Teal'c.

Hands clutched behind his back, Teal'c prowled Daniel's lab, head slightly bowed as if he were examining the collection of books, artifacts, and reports that littered the tables with great intensity. Daniel frowned, observing after a moment that Teal'c's dark eyes never rested, but his gaze seemed to slide over the items without seeing, just the way he could look out over the horizon of a new planet and immediately assess any potential danger to the team. His broad face bore little of the calm confidence that he had acquired after the defeat of the System Lords and the freeing of the Jaffa people. Instead he looked like the old Teal'c, the Teal'c who rarely smiled, the one who was so weighed down by his past and so hopeless about the future that using the word grim to describe his expression was an understatement. If it weren't for the hair, Daniel could easily place the Teal'c standing in his lab today in that stone prison cell on Chartago, awaiting his own execution. He'd been so wrapped up in his own pursuit of Merlin's weapon he'd almost missed his friend's anguish.

"O'Neill would not have needed to act in this manner," Teal'c snarled, eyes never still. "You would have trusted his judgment instinctively, as would I."

"Trusted Jack's judgment," Daniel pronounced slowly. "I'm sorry, which one of us had his memories erased a few years ago?" Getting no response, Daniel sighed and leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. "This isn't about Mitchell, is it."

Teal'c stopped moving around the cluttered room and turned just his head to meet the perceptive eyes of his teammate. After all these years he should not be surprised by Daniel Jackson's keen sense of awareness. His tightly creased forehead relaxed for a moment. "Am I so transparent to you then?" he asked quietly.

Daniel's eyebrows rose and he unconsciously reached up to adjust his glasses. "Transparent? No. But it can't be easy for you now that Dakara and the Jaffa High Council have been destroyed." Teal'c's frown returned. "Teal'c, you are the most self-possessed, reserved person that I've ever met. I know you don't resent Mitchell, or his command of SG-1. But I also know that you've fought every day of your life for the past ten years to free the Jaffa people from their enslavement to the Goa'uld." His intensity brought Daniel a step away from the wall and towards his friend. "And now another, stronger enemy has taken all of the progress that you and Bra'tac have made and destroyed it with one shot. You'd be less than the man I've always known you to be if that didn't affect you."

"The Free Jaffa Nation is no more." Teal'c straightened his shoulders and raised his head as if determined to cast off a burden.

Daniel hesitated. "You're right. The Free Jaffa Nation died with Se'tak and the Council on Dakara." Surprised to hear his own fatalistic words echoed from his optimistic friend, Teal'c turned and saw the compassion and commitment that filled the young man's eyes. "But that doesn't mean there is no hope of building another, stronger, more just Jaffa Republic. I've studied history, Teal'c, and I know how people have salvaged societies after devastating defeats. I mean, isn't that what Bra'tac is doing right now? Meeting with Jaffa from all over the galaxy to try to rebuild?"

"Bra'tac is persistent, but I fear it is a futile effort," Teal'c replied, turning towards the still open door to Daniel's workroom.

"Teal'c," Daniel lurched forward, as if to physically stop the Jaffa's progress. Before he could reach him, Teal'c quickly turned back to face him, startling Daniel into stillness. The pain plainly visible in his friend's eyes choked off his reply.

"I have lived over one hundred years, wondering if my people would ever taste the freedom that yours have known for centuries."

"I know," Daniel agreed quietly.

"I have bled and burned and fought for freedom, only to see it snatched away by yet another set of false gods."

"I know," he repeated.

"And you ask me to continue to hope?"

"Yes," Daniel breathed. "As frustrated and as tired as you must be, Teal'c, I ask you to continue to hope."

The two stood silently, yet communicating.

Teal'c closed his eyes and bowed his head in acknowledgment. "Because you ask, Daniel Jackson, I will try." He looked up to see Daniel shove his hands into his pockets and shift his weight uneasily. "Your own journey has been no less discouraging, Daniel Jackson, and yet, despite your own frustration and exhaustion you continue to hope."

"Oh, you know me," Daniel replied lightly, shrugging.

"Indeed," Teal'c began, a slight smile beginning to tug at his mouth.

"Hey, how's the. . ." Lt. Col. Cameron Mitchell stomped around the corner and into Daniel's lab, stopping short of the broad back of the Jaffa that almost blocked the doorway. "Whoa, sorry, Teal'c," he added, unconsciously holding the very thick file he'd been carrying between himself and the imposing figure. Giving Teal'c a wide berth, Mitchell planted himself between the two men, leaned back against a table, and glanced between them. "Sooo," he drawled, crossing his arms, "what am I missing?"

Daniel glanced at Teal'c over the top of his glasses, as if leaving any explanation up to him, and then turned and busied himself pouring his coffee.

"Nothing," Teal'c replied. Facing Mitchell he quirked one eyebrow, "Nor will you be missing our scheduled sparring practice this afternoon, will you Colonel Mitchell?"

"Nope, I'll be there," Mitchell assured him. "Although your enthusiasm for smacking me around is a bit disturbing, I've gotta admit."

"Then I will take my leave," Teal'c bowed his head and walked out, but not before Daniel caught a glimmer of amusement in his hooded, dark eyes.

Falling into the chair in front of his computer, Daniel scraped one finger across the touchpad to wake it and frowned at the screen. "So. How long were you listening?"

Mitchell straightened, uncomfortable. "Sounded kinda personal, so I thought I'd wait 'til you guys were finished," he explained.

"Right." He tapped at the keyboard to open his email and pursed his lips at the number of new messages he'd received. After a moment he glanced up to see Mitchell looking at him pensively. "Thanks, by the way."

"For waiting? No sweat."

Leaning back in his chair, Daniel nodded quickly, "No, well, yeah, that too. But I meant thank you for forcing me to take a break. I didn't want to admit it, but it was just what I needed. I even thought of some other avenues to explore, so, thanks."

"Well, before you leap back into the search for Merlin's weapon with both feet," Mitchell began, tapping the edge of the report tensely against Daniel's desk, "I need to talk with you about something else."

Frowning down at the distinctive cover on the file in the colonel's hand, Daniel sighed. "That's one of Vala's mission reports, isn't it? Hey, I warned you and General Landry that asking her to go into 'some detail'," Daniel made air quotation marks with his fingers, "would lead to trouble. She does love to tell a story…"

Mitchell waved his arms to ward off Daniel's explanation. "Yeah, I know, 'and then we did this, and then we did that.' Concise is not a word she's grown familiar with. But for once, I'm glad she went into unbelievably minute detail." He flipped to a page towards the bottom of the stack that he'd marked with a paper clip. "This is her report of our recon mission to PV7-373 - the one that ended up with us on the supposedly empty Ori ship after the Jaffa used their super weapon on Dakara to kill everyone." When Daniel gave him a questioning look, he continued. "While you've been in here researching cool stuff like Sir Gawain and the Sangraal, and Sam's been playing with her tech toys, I've been re-reading mission reports."

"And you found something in Vala's?" The archaeologist couldn't quite keep the note of incredulity out of his voice. He swung his chair around to face Mitchell directly. "Hey, I'm sure hers went into much more detail than mine, but we were together the entire time we were on that ship."

"And yet…" Mitchell began, pinning Daniel down with a suddenly narrowed gaze.

Gesturing at the papers in Mitchell's hands, Daniel raised his eyebrows and signaled for the Air Force officer to continue.

"Look, Jackson, I'm having trouble with the idea that you didn't think it was important enough to include in your report." When Daniel's expression displayed only a deepening of his confusion, Mitchell's demeanor eased. "And you have no idea what I'm talking about."

"Nope. Not a clue," Daniel affirmed, head nodding. "Maybe if you let me see it…" He reached out and snatched the report, scanning quickly down the page that Mitchell had marked, brow furrowing, his other hand unconsciously grabbing his coffee mug and bringing it to his mouth. It never reached it. "Oh, that," he muttered, setting report and mug back on the desk.

"Yeah, _that_," echoed Mitchell, empty hands shoved into the pockets of his blue BDUs. "C'mon. You can't tell me that you just forgot about that." He concentrated on holding a carefully blank expression, and keeping his tone even and light. If he'd learned one thing working with this team over the past year, it was that he might never learn exactly what was going on behind those glasses. Getting insights about ancient cultures and dead civilizations was simple – just find the crack in the dike and everything Dr. Daniel Jackson knew or thought would eventually come pouring out. But pushing him to reveal deeper concerns, especially when it had to do with Jackson personally often led to all kinds of impenetrable barriers going up. Mitchell was finding that it might be easier to get a keynote address out of the taciturn Jaffa than a straight answer out of his slightly more human teammate. And Sam Carter was an open book compared with both of them.

"It's not that I forgot, exactly," Daniel began softly, choosing his words carefully, "I just didn't think it was that important."

Cameron Mitchell allowed a hot wave of anger to churn through him, clenching his teeth to choke off the kind of retort that any airman in his command could expect after a statement like that. But he couldn't keep the sarcasm from his voice. "You didn't think it was that important?" Trying to release his irritation in nervous energy, Mitchell moved, turning his back on his teammate for a moment, holding out his arms and raising his eyes to heaven, or at least to the surface of Earth some 18 floors above his head. "A crazed, intergalactic superchick threatens you, tells you that she and her god-like forces 'have plans' for you, and you don't think that's important?" Turning back abruptly he planted both hands on the startled archaeologist's desk and leaned over him. "Tell me, just what would you consider important?"

"Obviously," Daniel replied, his own annoyance level rising quickly to counter that of the colonel's, "I thought it was more important to focus on Adria's powers, her telekinesis, and mind control, her personal shield that countered even the Ancient weapon on Dakara, her complete control of the Ori vessel without being anywhere near the bridge and the control chair, and the tactical information that she has, by her own admission, many, many more vessels out there, in our galaxy, and that she doesn't stay with just one. Those facts that you will find in my report are what I consider important, not posturing and threats. When you've heard the over-the-top, cliché threats from egomaniacs that I have for the last twelve years…"

"Oh, here we go," Mitchell interrupted bitterly, backing away from Daniel's desk, "the old not-so-subtle reminder to the new guy that you've seen it all…" He gestured expressively.

Daniel shot out of his chair, stabbing one finger at his desk to cement his point. "No, that isn't what this is, Mitchell, and if you'd actually been listening outside my door you'd realize that no one on this team, including me, feels that way. But, by the same token, you should be willing to admit that sometimes I might just know what I'm talking about."

Staring across the desk, the two men, both intent, both sure of his own position, seemed to deflate at the same time. Mitchell crossed his arms over his chest and Daniel picked up his mug and drained it before walking back over to the coffee pot.

"Look, I'm sorry I didn't include Adria's threat in my report," Daniel sighed, "but Vala did. Isn't that why we each write Mission Reports? So that you and General Landry and whoever else up the chain of command can get insight into these experiences from many perspectives?"

Shrugging his grudging agreement, Mitchell relented. "Of course. And I don't mean to beat you over the head with it, but this tendency you have to be completely oblivious to your own personal welfare…man, it worries me."

A small smile settled on Daniel's lips. "Funny, that's kinda what Jack used to say. Only not as politely." The frown returned in a moment. "But I'm on the same team as everyone else, Mitchell, and we each know that this is the last line of defense between our world and absolute destruction. None of us is particularly safe right now."

"Yeah, I get that," Mitchell replied in low even tones, trying to get through Jackson's stubbornness. "But unless I'm totally off here, it sounds to me like Adria's singling you out for something. And that's got to be connected to the fact that you are the only one on this team, the only living human, that's ever actually been Ascended and has the t-shirt to prove it."

Settling back into his chair heavily, as if the past 48-hours of forced rest had already been forgotten, Daniel nodded tightly. "Probably."

Mitchell had expected a bigger reaction – or any kind of reaction, actually. "And?"

"And what?" Daniel's irritation was back. "What do you want me to say? The Ori are trying to destroy the Ancients, yes, and having lived among the Ascended Ancients for over a year I might have some intel that the Ori want."

"Exactly!"

Daniel's laugh was dry and bitter. "So, what am I supposed to do about it? Go into hiding?" he suggested sourly.

Mitchell allowed the silence to stretch between the two until the everyday noises of the equipment and the busy military base intruded.

"You're serious," Daniel's eyes widened in disbelief.

"I'm not the only one," Mitchell admitted.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

"…and these so-called celebrities were decked out in these really lavish, ridiculous costumes, I mean, something that even the most pretentious, conceited Goa'uld would not be caught dead in, just covered in glittery sparkles and barely covering all of the important parts, if you know what I mean…" Lt. Col. Samantha Carter didn't know how Daniel could stand this on a daily basis. For the first few hours in the shielded lab it was nice having someone to talk to, someone to bounce her ideas off of, even if Vala didn't always understand what she was talking about. But the incessant babbling was slowly wearing on her, and, frankly, she couldn't wait until Vala lost interest in Sam's on-going science project. Of course, her own deteriorating mood didn't help matters much.

Placing the prior's staff back into the brackets she'd rigged up and moving the shielding back into place, Sam returned to a lab table that was situated across the room, just in case her experiments with the staff resulted in the kind of explosion that the science labs were becoming famous for. Concentrating on the frequency programming, it took a few minutes for the silence to register. When she looked up, Vala was standing at her shoulder, one hand on her hip and a grin on her face.

"What, what's wrong?" Carter asked quickly, her gaze flicking around the lab.

"Nothing," Vala responded, "I just wanted to see if you were still listening."

Carter smiled and shook her head. "I'm sorry, sometimes I get so wrapped up in my work I kind of tune out to everything else around me," she explained.

"You know," Vala lifted herself up to sit next to Sam's computer, "that's almost exactly what Daniel says." She peeked at the computer screen. "So, what are we doing now?"

"Unfortunately, more of the same," Carter replied. "We've been trying to figure out just how the priors use their staffs – how they are connected – ever since we obtained one from the Sodan home world last year. From the data I managed to lift from Adria's ship last month, and our limited understanding of the priors' enhanced brain activities, I'm theorizing that the staffs act as some type of amplifier for their abilities. But unless I can isolate the ultrasonic frequency that this prior used to connect with his staff we're not going to see any results."

"Shouldn't it be the same one?" Vala looked pointedly at the black saucer-shaped device that had been wired into Samantha Carter's laptop. "I mean, if the anti-prior device works on any prior, shouldn't we already know the frequency?"

Sam explained. "The anti-prior device actually oscillates through a range of different frequencies before it can find the right ones to block, it just does it very quickly so it seems instantaneous to any observers. And we've found that not every prior's brain is wired exactly the same way within that range, which makes sense - even with our own limited technology we've found that my brain wave patterns will look completely different from, say, yours even though we're both human. Finding the right frequency to connect with this particular staff is proving to be frustratingly difficult." Now _that_ was an understatement, Carter thought to herself. None of the hundreds of tests that had been run on the staff since they acquired it had yielded any kind of positive results. Nothing they had tried had made the power gauge so much as twitch momentarily. What had started off as a tiny kernel of doubt in her ability to come up with any way to halt the steady advance of Origin in their galaxy had become a constant, nagging sense of powerlessness. She closed her tired eyes for a moment of relief from the annoyingly unwavering images on her computer screen. At least in her locked and shielded lab neither General Landry nor Mitchell and his goon squad could impose their compulsory rest period idea on her the way they did on Daniel.

Vala frowned down at the blue light that flashed rhythmically around the circumference of the unimposing black device. "How does the machine know when it's got the right frequency?"

"Without boring you with the details," Sam's blue eyes focused intently on her screens again, "there is a sort of feedback the unit receives from the prior's brain when it successfully blocks transmissions."

"And that's what you're hoping to get back from the prior's staff when you hit the correct frequency." Vala smiled, pleased with herself.

"Yes."

"So we'll be able to block the priors from using them," Vala continued.

"Um, not exactly," Sam admitted tiredly. It was almost a shame to burst Vala's bubble. "Instead of blocking the frequency, I'm trying to make a connection between the staff and the computer, as if the computer were taking the place of the prior's brain. That way, with the right program, we might be able to utilize the amplification technology of the staff ourselves to reverse some of the damage the priors have done."

"Like the energy shields and the plagues," Vala added.

"Right."

"But the whole thing will only work if your theory that the staffs are just magnifying the priors' own wonky mind powers is correct." Seeing Sam's determined expression she continued, "I'm not saying you're wrong, it's just that you've been trying to find this supposed connection for quite some time, haven't you?" The last part of the sentence came out with more whine than Vala had intended. She hopped down from her perch on the table and wandered over to the staff, heedless of the baffling in place to absorb any random energy releases. "I mean, what if the Ori themselves are providing the power for the staffs? Can you duplicate that with a computer?" She reached out one long finger and followed the intricate whorls in the staff's design.

"Maybe not," Sam admitted, her voice strained as she anxiously followed Vala's every movement. "But this is what science is all about, trial and error, learning from my mistakes. It takes time and patience and very slow progress and please stop touching that!"

Eyes wide, Vala snatched her hand away as if the staff had tried to bite her. "Sorry." When the blond scientist had turned back to her equipment Vala added under her breath, "_Daniel_."

"What?"

"Nothing," Vala replied brightly.

"Look," Carter began, "I understand if you're bored."

"No, no, far from it," she denied immediately, shaking her head. "Well, yes, actually, horribly bored, but that doesn't mean I don't think this is important." She flashed a big smile and a 'thumbs-up' at her teammate.

Forgetting her annoyance, Carter found herself smiling back. "Believe me; I know that this entire experiment might be fruitless. I could be totally barking up the wrong tree here," she went on, ignoring Vala's momentary confusion with the American idiom, "but since we've been successful, at least for limited amounts of time, using sound waves to dampen the priors' abilities to use their advanced mental powers, it makes sense that other Ori technology might be similar."

Vala quirked her mouth into a line and nodded and Sam turned back to her computer. Placing her elbows on the other cluttered table situated behind Carter, she leaned forward and her long black hair fell over her shoulders. On one hand Vala knew that Samantha Carter was a brilliant scientist, and that her technical expertise had given Earth and the SGC unbelievable advancements that helped them defeat the Goa'uld and the Replicators, and protect their world from other alien threats. But, after watching Daniel closely, she was beginning to appreciate how this "scientific method" which they thought so highly of seemed to have its limitations. The patient and plodding approach was completely against her nature – she was much more the bang on it until it works type. That certainly wasn't a very popular approach around here.

"Dammit," Carter swore softly after several minutes. She straightened and glared at the staff hanging indifferently in its brackets. Drawing one hand through her short blonde hair, Sam pushed away from her computer. "That was the last of my search patterns." Turning she saw that Vala was also staring at the prior's staff, intent, chewing on one fingernail. "Did you see something?" Sam glanced quickly between the staff and the computer's screen. "Vala?"

"What? No, not a flicker," she answered absently. "Just wondering what that means. Does it mean that the staffs are not tied into the priors' brains?"

"Not necessarily," Sam began. Vala turned towards her, waiting for more. "Look, you know I didn't invent the anti-prior device, right? It was Orlin who made it work," Sam spoke quickly, trying to hurry past the emotions that lay right under the surface, but she couldn't quite keep the bitterness from her voice. "Without his insight into highly evolved brain functions …"

"Hold on," Vala interrupted, holding up one finger to stop her teammate. "Orlin? Some attractive alien scientist, no doubt?"

A sense of loss shadowed Carter's face. "I guess you could say that."

"Ooo," Vala crooked one foot around the leg of a nearby stool and pulled it towards her. Perching on the very edge she leaned forward, elbows on her knees and her chin in her hands, the model of a captive audience. "This sounds like a story. I am all ears," she breathed.

Sam lowered her head. Just how did this simple conversation about powerful Ascended beings and fluctuating ultrasonic frequencies end up here? She wasn't about to turn the story of Orlin's sacrifice into a romantic tale of adventurous conquest just to reduce Vala's boredom. A stab of guilt cut quickly through her - she hadn't been to visit Orlin for over a month, and, if she were being honest with herself, it wasn't solely because of SG-1's off-world commitments. Raising her eyes she was surprised that the look of playful curiosity she had expected to find on Vala's face had been replaced by one that echoed her own sadness and grief.

"You don't have to..."

"It's just that…"

Both women stopped uncomfortably, leaving an awkward gap of silence in the quiet room. Sam spoke first.

"I met Orlin five years ago on Velona. He was an Ascended being who chose to retake human form because, well," Sam hesitated, "because of me."

"You mean…" Vala straightened in surprise.

"He was in love with me," Sam added.

"Well," Vala began, "you people do tend to interact with Ascended beings much more frequently than I ever thought possible." She seemed to be deliberately trying to diffuse the emotion crowding the science lab, and Sam was grateful. "So he was a human again. Did anything…develop?"

"It's a pretty long story," Sam began moving purposefully around the lab, disconnecting wires, shutting down electronic components. Red and blue lights winked off and the background hum that had been unnoticeable in its constancy lessened. "He ended up building a mini-Stargate in my basement to try to stop the SGC from experimenting with a very powerful weapon he'd helped create on Velona." The story still sounded too ridiculous for words, even to Sam and she'd lived through it.

"And then what?"

"He was shot by SG-16 when he tried to stop them, but the Ancients allowed him to re-ascend."

A frown appeared on Vala's face. "But you said that he helped you with the anti-prior device, and we didn't even know about the priors until last year when Daniel and I found ourselves in the Ori galaxy."

Carter turned her head away from her equipment for a moment, setting the wires she'd been coiling back onto the table. "You remember we told you about the prior plague that swept through here after you were transported through the Supergate?"

Vala nodded. "Like the one the prior brought to P8X-412, where Daniel nearly got me executed by the people I'd ruled over as Qetesh. That was when you used the anti-prior device to get the prior's blood. And that," she nodded at the staff.

"Yes. Apparently the Ancients decided we needed their help to counter the Ori and they allowed Orlin to return."

Slapping her hands onto her thighs, Vala slipped off the stool. "Well I'll say this – for having a policy of strict non-interference, the Ascended beings certainly interfere whenever and however they please. Morgan Le Fay, Merlin, Oma Desala, this Orlin character – why don't they just flat out give us what we need? It is insane."

"Daniel says it's complicated," Sam smiled ruefully.

"Oh, I've heard that before," Vala rolled her eyes. "I thought he only used that line with me when he didn't feel like explaining something." Her voice rang with feigned hurt. "So Orlin came back and gave us this lovely thing." She tapped the black saucer-shaped object. "And then," she fluttered her fingers through the air.

"No. He's still here. But he can't help us anymore." Carter shook her head to emphasize the point.

"That is exactly what I mean." Vala's energy took her around the computer lab, her arms waving in exasperation. "Little bits and hints of info but never enough. Sometimes I wonder if they are really the good guys."

Sam reached out to still Vala's mindless activity. "You don't understand. It's not that he won't help. He can't. He returned to human form as a boy and the Ancient knowledge he retained and used to help us caused irreparable brain damage. He lives in a nursing home in Colorado Springs." She kept talking, needing to get to the end of this conversation. "I try to visit him when I can."

Vala reached up and took her teammate's arm, her frustrated energy suddenly dissipated. "Oh, Sam."

"He doesn't even remember me." Her voice was harsh, heavy with regret and repressed anger.

"I'm truly sorry," Vala said, her expression telling Sam that she knew her words did nothing to ease her pain.

Blinking, Sam flashed Vala a quick smile before finishing her clean up. After a moment, Vala released the prior's staff from its brackets, understanding Sam's need to bury her emotions in the work. Hefting the staff in her hands, that little thought that had been nibbling at the back of her mind earlier floated up to the surface. She didn't know much about the Ancients, just the few tiny details that Daniel had been willing to share, her own experiences talking with Morgan Le Fay in Atlantis, and now Sam's story about Orlin. But that moment on Adria's ship when Daniel was able to withstand her massive Ori-enhanced power kept replaying in her mind.

"Sam," she said abruptly as the blonde physicist allowed the heavy steel door to the corridor to slide open. "What about Daniel?"

"What about him?" Sam asked, not following.

"What about his brain? I mean, he was Ascended. Has he ever tried to connect with a prior's staff?"

Closing her laptop with a snap, Carter only glanced at Vala holding the Ori artifact. "Daniel didn't ascend through an evolutionary process, but with the help of another Ascended being."

"So?"

"So, his brain doesn't have the same enhanced functions as the priors." Sam dismissed the idea quickly, the two images of Orlin, one a quiet blond man standing so very close to her in her home, the other a small boy, his words filled with pain and wisdom, permanently linked in her mind's eye.

"How do you know?" Vala asked insistently, trying to cut through the onslaught of Sam's memories. She knew what kinds of thoughts caused the look on her teammate's face – she certainly had her own regrets about what she had and hadn't done in the past, and she could feel the waves of remorse radiating from the woman's tense posture. "Look," she began again, attempting to appeal to the analytical part of Samantha Carter's brain, "you said our two brain patterns…brain waves…something like that - wouldn't be the same because everyone's is different. Well, how different is Daniel's?" When Carter didn't answer right away, Vala raised her eyebrows and gestured with the staff to get her attention. "Surely being Ascended changed him, not just, I don't know, spiritually."

Breaking off her automatic movements, Carter allowed Vala's words to give her guilt a hasty but firm shove into the background for a moment. She drew back into scientist mode gratefully and nodded. "We don't really understand what happened, physiologically," Sam admitted.

"Surely your doctors ran tests. They seem to love to poke us and prod us at every opportunity even if we've just been for a stroll around the block, so to speak." Vala followed up quickly, hoping to keep Sam's focus. "You'd think coming back from the dead would be a rather big deal."

"It was," Sam insisted. "The medical teams put him through every kind of test they could think of, but Daniel was perfectly normal."

"And he never displayed any sort of enhanced abilities?" Vala asked, mentally cringing at how the question sounded once it came out of her mouth.

She needn't have worried about Carter's reaction to her unfortunate choice of words. Head cocked to one side, Sam frowned, images of past missions crowding her thoughts. Off-hand remarks by Dr. Janet Frasier, and seemingly trivial events that surrounded Daniel took on new significance. Still, it was easy to take unrelated data and manipulate it to fit into a pattern if you were determined enough. She was about to explain as much to Vala when she was interrupted.

"We know that the Ori mess with the genetics of the priors to increase their mental abilities, right?" Vala plowed ahead. "How is that different from what happened to Daniel? Didn't an Ascended being change him in some fundamental way?"

"Well, yes, but…"

"I know," Vala couldn't stop herself. "No pasty white skin, no icky facial markings."

"What I was trying to say," Carter crossed her arms firmly, "was that Daniel wasn't made into an evolved human being, he was literally changed into energy. And when he came back he was completely human again."

Vala's eyes narrowed intently. "Are you absolutely sure?"

No scientist used the word 'absolutely' lightly, and Sam hesitated to do so now. "Wait a minute," she confronted Vala, "what gave you this idea? Because Orlin retained some of his Ascended memories and abilities, you think Daniel has been hiding some mysterious power for the past four years?"

"Not hiding exactly," Vala was not about to give up this line of reasoning easily. "You've got to admit he can do things that I haven't seen too many other people do around here, and I'm not just talking about his ability to speak quickly or leap to conclusions with little or no evidence." She didn't want to come up against the protective streak she'd seen in both Carter and in Teal'c by being critical of Daniel, but they all seemed to dance around him – never really confronting him with any real issues.

Too late. Vala could see the defensiveness come over Samantha Carter like a cloak. "How could it hurt to talk to him about it?" Vala did not shrink from Carter's sharp gaze but held it until the Air Force Colonel's expression softened. "It would definitely sound better coming from you," she coaxed, eyes wide. "He's due back on the base this morning so we could go and talk with him right now."

"Vala," Sam warned, "this is pointless. If Daniel had any enhanced powers he would have told us about them years ago. He certainly wouldn't be hiding them – not from us."

"Not intentionally, no," she agreed. "But I didn't think I remembered anything about the hidden stash of treasure that Athena was poking around for in my brain, but she found those memories, didn't she?" Vala stubbornly persisted. "Maybe, something in Daniel's mind could be accessed in a similar way."

Sam shook her head and took the staff from Vala's grasp. "You said yourself that the memory device Athena used on your mind was extremely painful. Do you really want to subject Daniel to that?" She fingered the keys to the weapons locker in the pocket of her BDUs, ready to lock this subject away with the prior's staff.

As the other woman turned to precede her from the lab, Vala clutched at her sleeve. "Sam. Do _you_ really think that Daniel would hesitate to take that chance?"


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

During the short trip down the corridor to the Level 19 Secondary Armory where Col. Carter secured the prior's staff amid the other alien weaponry the SGC had acquired over the past ten years, Vala changed her mind a dozen times. Now that she had Sam partially convinced, she wondered if confronting Daniel about his post-Ascension potential would lead to anything positive. That man could redefine stubborn, and finding out that this little idea came from her was not going to endear it to him. Maybe she was blowing things out of proportion – she did have a penchant for exaggeration. On the other hand, she wasn't a scientist, but Vala had a fairly good understanding of the kinds of technologies that were out there in the galaxy, and nothing she'd seen in any Tok'ra or Goa'uld vessel could compare with the kinds of power the Ori and their followers utilized at will. Hurrying to keep up with Samantha Carter's long, determined strides, she rehearsed that clash of wills she'd witnessed on Adria's ship, wondering again if she was jumping to conclusions. It wasn't as if Daniel had been able to throw things around with his mind, or stop Adria from getting what she wanted from the Jaffa. Still, his ability to hold off Adria's mental assault could be a substantial lead for Sam and the other scientists at the SGC, and he would surely have to admit that much, wouldn't he?

After swiping her key card in the slot at the end of the corridor, Carter stood impatiently, arms crossed as she awaited the arrival of the base elevator, her own thoughts a tangled mess. Vala was right – Daniel had been changed by his experiences as an Ascended being. But they had all been so happy to have him back that SG-1, General Hammond, and even detail-oriented Janet Frasier had been reluctant to probe too deeply, to really explore all of the implications of his return. Not once, but twice. What was it about Daniel Jackson that made the most dedicated scientists, including herself, tend to back off? Academic puzzles like this were what researchers lived for – she'd seen Dr. Lee and Dr. Frasier hold an SG team in isolation for days rather than risk losing a single trace of biological or mineralogical data that they might have brought back from another planet. One look at Daniel's baby-blues and, apparently, scientific protocol went out the window.

Maybe that was the point. Glancing at the woman next to her, Sam realized that it had taken an outsider – someone who hadn't known Daniel for ten years, hadn't seen how he'd suffered and fought for what he believed in, hadn't witnessed his vulnerability – to point out something right under her nose. At the SGC people had a tendency to think of Daniel as either a sort of little brother who needed protecting, or a peace-maker who could be relied on to smooth the ruffled feathers of everyone from aliens with actual ruffled feathers, to political busy-bodies with nothing better to do than second-guess command decisions. No matter how good he was with a gun, or how tactically savvy he'd become, Air Force personnel saw only the round holes of a military command and had no place in their paradigm for the square peg that was Dr. Daniel Jackson.

Wincing inwardly as she stepped onto the elevator and hit the button to take them one floor up, Sam realized that a lot of that perception was probably Jack's fault. As the leader of the front-line unit under some of the direst circumstances in history Jack O'Neill's attitude had set the tone for the entire base. From the airmen in the 'Gate Room, to the medics in the infirmary, people tended to follow Jack's lead, not blindly, but out of respect for the man, his position, and his experience. Colored by what the two had lived through on that first mission to Abydos, and bound by their profound mutual losses, the connection between Jack and Daniel was complex, so complex that no one outside of the close-knit family that was SG-1 could hope to understand it. Unfortunately, all people noticed was Jack's outward sarcasm and patronizing manner towards the civilian, not the deep sense of respect that both men knew existed under the surface. And Daniel's habit to flaunt military authority didn't exactly help change that perception.

Sam was snapped back to the present when the elevator doors slid open. Daniel was rushing towards her, not yet changed from his civvies into Air Force BDUs. His eyes were filled with a cold fury, and his face was set in a scowl so deep that he looked twice his age. He didn't seem to see either of the women, but she and Vala moved out the way, stepping into the hallway he had just vacated and unconsciously putting space between them and the furious man.

"Daniel?" Vala ventured, turning to watch Daniel's momentum carry him into the elevator, one hand slapping at the keypad.

From behind her down the corridor, Sam heard the sound of heavy jogging footsteps, and a familiar voice snapped out. "Jackson!" Mitchell arrived just as the elevator doors closed, and he looked at the two women in accusation. "Why didn't you stop him?"

"Stop him from doing what?" Vala asked, innocently.

"From doing something stupid, of course," Mitchell responded, curtly, gesturing towards the unyielding metal doors with the mission report clutched in his hand.

"Cam, what's going on?" Carter demanded, as Mitchell dug through his pockets for his own keycard.

"Let's just say the you-know-what is about to hit the fan, and we'd better be there to pick up the pieces."

The short conversation with Daniel Jackson had momentarily calmed the churning emotions that threatened to overcome Teal'c's rigid self-control. He had held onto hope for his fellow Jaffa for most of his long life, even when it had been only he and Bra'tac who believed that freedom was possible. Since his own rebellion he had witnessed selfless acts of honor and sacrifice by men and women who had every excuse to become as evil as the thing they hated. So many Jaffa had fallen in service to the Goa'uld; so many children had been maimed so that the young symbiotes would be protected and nurtured. These thoughts seeped into his dreams; dreams that, up until a few years ago, he had never been subjected to, but dreams that he now could not escape.

Walking through the underground Taur'i base, Teal'c automatically nodded to the SGC personnel who greeted him. Many had made gestures of friendship towards him over the years of his exile among the humans, but Teal'c preferred his solitude, broken only by the few men and women whom he trusted. After a few failed attempts to "fit in" to human society outside the military base, he realized that the differences between him and most of the humans were to be savored, not suppressed. Since then he held tightly to his Jaffa heritage, and thus his unique position not only among the fighters of the Taur'i, but also the remnant of the Jaffa rebellion, building bridges between the two as only he could. Those bonds had been sorely tested of late.

They had been so close to a stable Jaffa government. During the last battle with the Replicators and Anubis, he had helped his people retake the legendary temple at Dakara – the site of the first prim'ta, the first time a human child was changed to become an incubator for his slave-master. Setting up their fledgling council there on that spot was more than a military victory, it was a spiritual one, a symbol of freedom and independence to all Jaffa. But the victory was short-lived, and the Ori brought a return to mindless slavery with their seductive promise to accomplish what every Jaffa longed for: Ascension. Even the legendary Sodan warriors had not been immune and they had paid a heavy price. Many had succumbed to the lure of spiritual enlightenment, and, now that Dakara had been destroyed, many more would be tempted to give up their fight in the face of such a powerful enemy.

His wandering path brought Teal'c to the control room on Level 28. He often stood there, waiting, before the glass that overlooked the Chappa'i, the great ring that brought friend and foe from across the galaxy. Master Sergeant Harriman and his staff of 'gate technicians had grown accustomed to his silent companionship, welcoming the sense of calm and safety that Teal'c's presence brought.

"No scheduled 'gate activity," Sgt. Harriman commented over his shoulder as Teal'c took a position slightly behind the ever-present airman. Even with the extra duties assigned to him by General Landry, Harriman, possessive of the equipment and personnel he had worked with for years, was rarely found away from his station. Teal'c inclined his head in the technician's direction, clasped his hands behind his back and allowed his gaze to scan the computer screens in the control room, and then the unhurried activity in the 'gate room itself. It was these hours of idleness that were the most wearying for Teal'c: the days and weeks between missions, time spent in endless meetings and discussions between the SG teams and their superiors, or periods of inactivity while awaiting intelligence or the convalescence of a team member – not the fierce battles and peril that off-world missions were sure to bring. Without duties on which he could focus his mind and his energies, he became increasingly unable to guard himself against the doubts that plagued him. If that meant that the blows he directed at Col. Mitchell during their work-out sessions possessed a bit more sting, then so be it. His mouth crooked in a small smile at the thought.

As he stood amid the orderly and utterly routine actions of the people around him, Teal'c felt the taut muscles of his neck begin to relax, and he slowly loosened the grasp one hand had on the other behind his back. The quick but deliberate footsteps on the metal stairs leading from the Level 28 corridor produced only a mild curiosity until Daniel Jackson appeared. His civilian attire surprised the Jaffa into raising one eyebrow, but it was his teammate's brusque manner towards Sgt. Harriman that sent a surge of adrenaline through Teal'c's bloodstream. Any serenity that he had won in the past few minutes was shaken off as the Jaffa caught himself taking a defensive position and searching the immediate area for the presence of enemies.

"Where's Landry?" Daniel barked, one hand reaching to adjust his glasses. His eyes raked over Teal'c's figure, but would not meet his friend's concerned glance.

"He's in his office, but he's meeting with…" Daniel was already moving towards the spiral staircase at the back of the control room before Harriman had even shifted in his chair. The Master Sergeant raised his voice at the archaeologist's retreating figure. "…the IOA representative right now. Dr. Jackson?" Harriman stood as if to follow, but Teal'c, raising one arm, halted the short man in his tracks without a word. As he, too, disappeared up the stairs, the 'gate technician shook his head. "Okay, _that_ went well."

Single-minded on his goal, Daniel Jackson nearly ran down the slight figure of IOA representative Richard Woolsey as he crossed the SGC briefing room. Daniel stopped in his tracks, narrowed his eyes in suspicion and plunged both hands deep into his jeans' pockets as if to keep them from doing something violent to the bureaucrat.

"I should have known," he remarked scornfully.

"Dr. Jackson," Woolsey began, hesitantly.

"This was your idea, wasn't it?" Jackson's outrage carried clearly through the separation between the briefing room and General Hank Landry's office, and into the hallway beyond. "Is it just me you have a problem with, Woolsey, or are you trying to sabotage every SG team?"

"I assure you," Woolsey lowered his own voice in reaction to Jackson's and took a small step backward, "this is not personal. In fact…"

The door to General Landry's office flew open and the SGC's commanding officer strode into the room. Oblivious to the man's unsmiling approach and Woolsey's soothing tone Daniel pressed his attack, hands flying out of his pockets to gesture wildly. "This is by far the stupidest thing I have ever heard in my life, and believe me," Daniel's dry laugh was devoid of any humor, "I have heard some very stupid things since I joined this program."

"Dr. Jackson." Landry rarely felt the need to shout at the men and women in his command. His icy control had served him well, immediately communicating his authority while eliminating the urge for voices, and tempers, to escalate. But, this time, Jackson was having none of it.

Stepping around Landry who had stationed himself between the archaeologist and his target, Daniel's rage only intensified. "Do you seriously expect me to sit on my…"

"Jackson!"

"Daniel?"

"General Landry."

The conference room was suddenly full of blue BDUs and concerned voices, as the other members of SG-1 appeared, each trying to be heard above Daniel Jackson's harsh words.

"Stand down!" Just because Hank Landry typically chose not to use his command voice, that didn't mean it wasn't damned effective when he did. Nodding in dismissal to the armed SFs that had eased into the room, the general took a moment to evaluate the situation. Carter and Mitchell had snapped to attention, their eyes lost in that middle distance soldiers were trained to focus on. Teal'c had risen to his full height, his face calm but alert. Vala, between the two Air Force colonels, glanced uncomfortably between her teammates. The only two people dressed in civilian clothes stood at the center of the tempest, Woolsey looking ill at ease but determined, unconsciously straightening his tie, while Jackson turned his back on the entire ensemble to gaze unseeing onto the Stargate below. Body language, Landry thought to himself. He could read this group like a ten-cent paperback.

"Well, Col. Mitchell," the general's affable persona appeared again quickly, "I see you've broached our current proposal with Dr. Jackson in your usual subtle way." He gestured his team to the chairs surrounding the large oak table and moved to the position at the head. "Now that you've cleverly rounded everyone up we might as well get this brainstorm out in the open." He turned towards the IOA representative and added, "And you thought you were going to be able to get away clean." Landry clucked his tongue and shook his head in mock reproof.

Mitchell and Carter settled uneasily into their usual seats at one side of the table, and Vala dropped into one beside them, her gaze on Daniel's unmoving back. Woolsey hurriedly slipped into the chair closest to Landry, putting some distance between himself and Dr. Jackson. While the others were quietly taking their places, Teal'c took three long steps and halted next to his friend at the window, saying nothing.

Struggling to control his temper, Daniel barely glanced at the impassive figure beside him. "They didn't tell you about this?" he finally muttered.

"Apparently not." Teal'c's dry response told Daniel everything he needed to know. He found himself turning from the view and pulling out the chair on the far side of Teal'c from Richard Woolsey.

"General," Cameron Mitchell kept his eyes down, focused on the mission report he'd placed on the table in front of him, still stinging from Landry's barbed comment. "I wanted to give Jackson a chance to explain…"

"Explain? Explain. Right…" Jackson interrupted, all but spitting the words.

As the men and women all started talking again, Landry, feeling more like the patriarch at a particularly difficult family reunion than a Major General among seasoned troops, rose half-way from his chair. "Enough!" He stared down the stubborn fury of Dr. Daniel Jackson until the man ripped his glasses from his face and closed his eyes, apparently trying to will himself thousands of light-years away. He shrugged mentally; if Jackson still had some latent Ascended capabilities, maybe the man could do it.

"Why don't I bring us all up to speed, shall I?" the general dropped back into the chair, "since I'm ostensibly the one in charge here." He flicked at look at Woolsey. "Based on his confrontation with this Adria and certain other unexplained phenomena associated with Dr. Jackson, the IOA has suggested that he be removed from off-world duty with SG-1 so that he can assist our scientists in developing an effective weapon against the Ori."

The silence was almost as loud as the voices had been a moment ago.

Vala was the first to break it. "Wait. You're taking Daniel off of SG-1based solely on my mission report?" She tried to laugh it off, but her facial expression betrayed her. "I'm sure my report made riveting bed-time reading, and I do try to insert all of the interesting bits, but surely you're not making this decision based entirely on my observations." Hoping to get some kind of acknowledgement from Daniel she looked at him across the conference table, but his hand covered his eyes.

"It seems that the IOA has been keeping some fairly extensive records on everything concerning Dr. Jackson ever since he retook human form a few years ago. And now they've got a brand new theory." Landry gestured towards the man sitting next to him.

"This can't be a surprise to any of you," Woolsey began, turning to include everyone at the table. "One of the only clear facts we have about the Ori is that they are Ascended beings who advance their human representatives, the priors, along the evolutionary ladder. And the only weapon we have come up with to combat their powers was largely designed by a formerly Ascended being."

"And the one connection we have with any Ascended powers is…" Teal'c shifted his eyes.

"Sitting right here," Daniel Jackson reminded everyone sardonically, still rubbing his hand along his forehead.

"Look, this is just a discussion, right? Nothing's been decided?" Col. Mitchell looked to Landry for confirmation and received a careful nod. "That's what I was trying to tell you before you busted out of the lab and tore off." Mitchell understood the irony of his own position. Named the new leader of SG-1 just over a year ago, he had made it his mission to restore Teal'c, Lt. Col Carter and Dr. Jackson to permanent assignment to the lead team of the SGC. After months of cajoling and persuading, they had all agreed to return to their positions under his command, and now it looked like it was all falling apart.

"I was going to bring the relevant facts to my colleagues at the IOA when, well," Woolsey glanced down the table, "when this unexpected meeting was called."

"And just what are those facts, Mr. Woolsey," Samantha Carter spoke up for the first time, her frustration at the situation plainly written on her face. "The only facts we have are the hundreds of medical tests that have been run on Daniel since he returned, that have all been completely normal, and one threat from an enemy. Sir," Carter addressed Landry specifically, "the SGC has never made internal policy based on threats from our enemies."

"Calm down, Colonel," Landry spared her a wry smile, "this command does not plan to start bowing to posturing enemies, no matter what they claim. We would, however, be fools to dismiss what happened aboard the Ori ship between Dr. Jackson and Adria."

"Just what did occur?" Teal'c's rumbling voice finally drew Daniel from his self-imposed exile behind closed eyes.

"Adria was looking for the Ancient weapon that the Jaffa had used against her on PV7-373," Daniel sighed, replacing his glasses. "She tried to get it from my mind." He shrugged. "She failed."

Teal'c swiveled his chair so that he could face his teammate directly, but it was Carter who spoke. "What?"

"See? This is just what I said in my report," Vala jumped in. "Daniel, this is important, don't you see that?"

"No, it's not," he insisted, his voice as sharp as the look he directed at Vala.

"Daniel," Carter leaned forward and tried to reason with him. "Vala's right. Adria has proven that her powers are extensive. They are significantly beyond those of the priors, and we've had absolutely no success against them unless we have time to use the anti-prior device. If you were able to shield your mind against her," her words trailed off.

"And this is not the first time you've been able to protect your mind from outside forces, Daniel Jackson," Teal'c observed.

"What about that time you were a 'lifeboat' for over a dozen people from the vessel bound for Ardina," Mitchell added quickly. "Didn't Dr. Frasier's report say that you somehow protected your own consciousness so that the others could be removed?"

"You also stopped my Replicator double from overrunning the SGC before the Dakara weapon could be used against her." Samantha Carter did not like remembering the damage that the human-form replicator had been able to do because she had trusted her.

"More recently, I'm sure you all remember Khalek, and the affect he had on this base just one year ago. I know I'll never forget it," murmured Woolsey. "While this being, advancing towards Ascension as we watched, could read my mind like an open book, and was able to stop every single bullet that was fired at him, you managed to surprise him. It was almost as if your mind – your intentions – were invisible to him."

"Okay, stop," Daniel pushed away from the conference table and rose to his feet. "While this trip down memory lane has been a hoot, it is just not relevant." His frustration sent him pacing along the end of the conference table, his words coming faster and faster. "I Ascended, yes, but when I returned to human form any powers, any abilities that I might have had were gone. Even my memories of my life as an Ascended being had been removed, taken by the Others. I'm sorry, but I don't have a rabbit to pull out of my hat or any other magic tricks to help us defeat the Ori, and if you really believe that I've been hiding some kind of crazy power that we could use to stop them…"

"Of course not," Landry interrupted. "Dr. Jackson, everyone at this table as the utmost respect for your contributions to this command."

"But you've got to admit," Mitchell added, "funky mind powers is not exactly business as usual, even around here."

"Adria did say that she had plans for you," Vala's small voice fell into the momentary stillness. She looked up at Daniel with genuine concern. "Doesn't that worry you, because, I've got to say that it frightens me. And don't tell me she was lying because I've heard my share of empty threats in my lifetime, and this was not one of them."

Daniel stopped and faced her. "Vala, I'm sorry. I know this must be very hard for you especially since Adria is, in some strange way, your daughter." The anger seemed to drain out of him physically, and he was left with his innate determination. "But we cannot take her threat seriously."

"Yes, we can," Landry responded, "and we must. Dr. Jackson, I'm think I'm safe in saying that you would not want your team to be put in jeopardy because Adria and the Ori are targeting you?"

"No, of course not," Daniel began, disturbed by Landry's suggestion.

"Sir," Mitchell didn't like the way this conversation was going. "I think I can speak for SG-1 when I say that no one feels that Jackson's presence on the team would lead us into any more danger than we would normally face."

"Don't bother to agree," the general held up one hand to snuff out the comments that were on the tips of the rest of SG-1's tongues. He rose from his chair, Carter and Mitchell joining him an instant later. "We would be foolish to ignore this. But, at the same time, I do not want to sideline the most effective weapon we have against the Ori: SG-1. And that means you – all of you." He took in the group with a look. For the time being, Dr. Jackson, I'm willing to let our own experts determine whether or not there is anything to this theory. Report to Dr. Lam in the infirmary. For the time being," he repeated, staving off Daniel's immediate objections, "until I decide otherwise, you are restricted to Earth. The rest of SG-1 will proceed with preparations for your recon mission to P2L-688. Dismissed."

Landry walked quickly back to his office and closed the door. Hazarding a look through his window into the conference room he noticed that Richard Woolsey had been right on his heels and was already exiting into the corridor. Smart man, he thought to himself. The members of SG-1 were all on their feet now, drawing together, as Landry hoped they would. He snatched at the red phone on his desk to try to reach the one man who might be able to head off this witch hunt before the IOA made any further "suggestions" as to how to handle Daniel Jackson.


	4. Chapter 4

_**Now**_

The trip through the 'gate sapped the last of Vala's adrenaline. She stumbled on the metal ramp, dropped the GDO and fell to her knees before the wormhole disengaged and the SFs in the 'gate room lowered their weapons. Struggling against the grey fog that was shrinking her field of vision, Vala felt hands under her elbows. Familiar voices spoke to her from a great distance, asking questions, telling her that she was safe. She felt the touch of latex gloves on the skin of her arm and she tried to pull away. There was no time.

"No, I have to go back," she whispered, grabbing at the intruding hands and using them to pull herself to her feet. "I have to go back." Vala shook her head to try to clear away the fog and saw that the arm she was clutching belonged to Dr. Carolyn Lam. "He's hurt and I have to go back." Why weren't they listening to her?

"Let's take care of you first," the doctor tried to ease Vala over to a nearby gurney, her brown eyes full of concern.

"I'm fine," Vala insisted, frowning, looking past the doctor and her assistants for the one person who would help her. Relieved to find him standing to her right, she lunged towards him. "General Landry, we need reinforcements, weapons, at least two SG teams and medical supplies. There's not much time."

"Vala, you've been out of touch for over 22 hours, what the hell is happening?" Landry took her by both arms to steady her and turn her towards him. "Vala? Where is Dr. Jackson?"

"That's what I'm trying to tell you," she gritted her teeth in frustration. "We've got to go back to the planet and get Daniel. He's badly injured."

Landry only had to glance at the tall figure of Sgt Siler. "Readying a UAV, sir," the airman turned on his heel and left the 'gate room at a run. "What the hell is going on?" The general directed his entire focus back on the slight woman in front of him.

"Well, General," Vala began, "things didn't go exactly as we expected." A high-pitched laugh escaped from her throat.

"I can see that," Landry growled.

"General," Dr. Lam twisted through the press until she faced her father. "Vala needs medical attention."

Ignoring the doctor's concerns, Vala continued. "Mitchell and the rest of the team hadn't been gone for more than a couple of hours before Jaffa started flooding the 'gate. They attacked the settlement, and took us captive. We managed to get away, but Daniel couldn't make it back to the 'gate. Sir," she cut off another outburst from Dr. Lam with a sharp glance, "I'm all right."

Lam raised her eyebrows at the discolored swelling across Vala's cheekbone that squeezed her right eye almost shut, and pointed one finger at the raw skin on her wrists where the BDU sleeves had fallen away. "Really?" she asked, "you're clearly exhausted, probably dehydrated and I haven't even had a good look at you yet to determine any other injuries."

"Yes," Vala swung on the young woman abruptly, "and I got away easy, so you'd better go collect what you need to take care of Daniel because we need to move fast."

"Let's continue this discussion on the way to the infirmary," Landry's voice was tight with strain, but his brusque movements allowed no argument. Steering Vala with one arm, he marched her towards the corridor leading from the 'gate room, trailing Dr. Lam and other medical personnel in his wake. A terse, "Reynolds!" collected the dour leader of SG-3 from his position at the end of the ramp to follow behind.

"…and I'm telling you that without a more complete picture of what we're up against, we're going nowhere!" Landry's patience had all but run out by the time they reached the Level 21 infirmary. He understood – he'd been in Vala's position too many times, forced to do the right thing tactically while he wanted to follow his gut. He knew the frustration and guilt that tore her up; he felt the same way every time he issued an order that put good men in danger. But, as a military commander he'd long ago come to terms with the consequences of decisions, even if they still interrupted his sleep regularly.

Vala sat fuming on the infirmary bed while Lam gave her a cursory examination. "I've told you, there were no Jaffa close enough to the 'gate to worry about when I came through."

"And by now they might have moved in an entire battalion. Vala, until the UAV sends us tactical specs, we're in a holding pattern here. I cannot send men in there blind."

"The only thing you're blind to is the fact that Daniel could bleed to death if we don't get back through that 'gate." Vala gestured towards the door, snatching her arm from the nurse who was bandaging a laceration on her wrist. "It was your stupid rule that kept us on that planet in the first place…"

"Calm down and let the medics do their work," Landry leaned in close, biting off the words. "This is not helping anyone."

His barely controlled anger shocked her into silence.

Col. Reynolds had grabbed the base phone as soon as he stepped into the infirmary, issuing instructions for prepping the SG teams that would be included on a rescue mission, and keeping the general up-to-the-minute on any intel coming from the 'gate room. "Siler says the UAV is ready to go, General, infra-red and thermal imaging are on-line," he added.

Landry shot the colonel a look. "Thank you, Col. Reynolds. Tell Siler to send it through. Concentrate on Dr. Jackson's transponder signal."

Dr. Lam took advantage of the general's shift of attention and reached for Vala's chin. Gently probing along the bruise on her cheekbone, the doctor's fingers paused when Vala drew in her breath sharply. "You'll need X-rays, you might have a hairline fracture."

Vala drew back from the doctor's touch in annoyance. "I'm fine," she growled. "General, just get me the Goa'uld hand device and a P-90 and I'll go back for Daniel myself."

"Not going to happen," Landry replied. "Now stop it and give me something we can use."

Vala closed her eyes and tried to shut out the sight of the pool of blood under Daniel's body. "The Jaffa were taken completely by surprise – they didn't have a chance. We didn't even know what was going on at first, we thought it might be some kind of internal rebellion, but then we saw the armor and the tattoos." She felt the medics attend to the sores on her wrists and opened her eyes. "But we know they are only the first wave. He's on his way there, and if he gets a hold of Daniel…"

"If who gets a hold of him, Vala? Who sent the Jaffa to P5R-118?"

She frowned. "Ba'al. He knew about the Ancient ruins and sent his Jaffa on ahead to secure the planet before his arrival."

Landry and Reynolds exchanged glances. "SG-3, 7 and 9 are ready, General," Reynolds announced, "the men are geared up and standing by in the 'gate room."

"Dr. Lam?" The question was in her father's eyes as well as his voice. Even though all standard medical practices would tell Carolyn to keep Vala in the infirmary for her own good, she knew that nothing at the SGC could be described as "normal." "She has no life-threatening injuries, but she's weak. I can't tell you that she might not be a liability on a rescue mission." The Chief Medical Officer of the SGC could hear the coldness in her own voice – that self-imposed distance that helped her keep her reputation as the ultimate professional who only made the logical decisions. She knew that Vala still blamed her for not keeping Daniel Jackson out of the hands of that idiot from Area 51 earlier this week – she still blamed herself – but she could deal with that later. Nodding to her assistant, Carolyn met her father's gaze briefly before turning back to her patient. "I'll need more specifics before I can make any guesses as to Dr. Jackson's condition. You said he could bleed to death, what kind of injury is it?"

"Knife wound," Vala flashed an icy look at the doctor. "It's a deep one, on the inside of his upper thigh. I know there's an artery there, but since he's not dead already I'm guessing it's only been nicked. I managed a bandage, but every time he moves it starts bleeding again. He's also got some broken ribs and, well, he doesn't seem to know when to shut up, so the Jaffa were pretty rough on him."

Landry grunted. "That's from too many years of working with Jack O'Neill." Dr. Lam's assistant returned with the Goa'uld healing device and handed it to Vala.

"Sir," Reynolds still had his ear to the telephone, "readings starting to come through from the UAV."

"Let's go."

Vala slid off the infirmary bed, but Dr. Lam blocked her from following Landry and Reynolds. "I'll send the supplies you need to deal with his wounds up to the 'gate room just in case." Vala tried to step around her, but Lam wasn't finished. "You did the right thing, Vala."

Her eyes suddenly bright, Vala made a noncommittal noise and juggled the Goa'uld gadget into place on her hand. "That doesn't exactly make me feel any better." She hurried after the two Air Force officers.

"It never does," Carolyn Lam muttered.

Chapter Four

"Okay, this is going to be a complete waste of time," Daniel's fierce gaze followed the scurrying figure of Richard Woolsey until the man disappeared into the corridor. "If I were just stuck on Earth I could at least continue my research into finding Merlin's weapon."

"Hey," Mitchell began, attempting light and easy-going, "if you're right, Lam will find out soon enough that you're not a super hero and you'll be able to hang up your cape and get back to your smelly old books."

"I'm right," Daniel didn't match the colonel's carefully playful tone.

"You don't know that," Carter stepped closer to Daniel trying to get through the stubborn shell he'd drawn around himself. "There might be some residual effects that would explain all of this, everything that's happened since you returned." She reached out to touch his arm, but he shifted his weight and blocked her with his hand, just as he'd done once before on Vis Uban before his memories of his life on earth began to return.

"The timing might be terrible, but at least you'll get to miss another pointless recon mission where we find nothing but rocks and trees and trees and rocks – " Vala stopped herself and risked a quick glance at the closed door to General Landry's office. Raising her voice she continued "– which I consider myself extremely lucky to have a chance to explore as an actual member of SG-1." She smiled and punched Teal'c in the shoulder.

Deliberately ignoring her, Teal'c turned towards his young friend. "Colonel Carter is correct. You must not assume that you would be aware of all of the changes that took place within you when you were returned to human form, Daniel Jackson. Have you not said yourself that you have no memory of all that transpired during your journey among the Ancients?"

Crossing his arms over his chest, Daniel dropped his chin and stared down at the floor.

"I gotta agree with the big guy, here, Jackson," Mitchell made another stab at deflating Daniel's temper. "Just give it a couple of days, what can it hurt?"

"Okay, okay," holding up both hands to fend off any other words of advice, Daniel relented. "Just a couple of days," his tone mocked Mitchell's perfectly, "what could it hurt?" He strode off down the hallway.

"I'm just going to…" Samantha Carter pointed at Daniel's retreating figure and, receiving nods of acknowledgement, she followed him from the conference room.

"Final mission briefing's at eleven hundred, and we're scheduled to ship off at 13:30," Mitchell looked at his watch. "If Jackson's not going, we'll need to divvy up his equipment."

"Ooh, can I do the picture thing?" Vala brightened up and pantomimed using Daniel's video camera.

"Sure," Mitchell replied briefly, his attention on Landry's office. "I think I'll just check things out with the general."

"I will accompany you," Teal'c rumbled, moving with Mitchell to stand outside Landry's door. Neither noticed when Vala tossed her hair over her shoulders and hurried out of the room behind them.

Sam caught up with Daniel while he was stepping into the elevator. "Mind some company?" she ventured.

"I think I can find my way to the infirmary, Sam, I've been there a few times," Daniel snapped.

Shrugging, she stepped inside just as the doors were closing and stared in silence as the numbers flashed across the display.

The silence worked its way past Daniel's defenses and he looked at Sam who was seemingly fascinated by the progress of the digital numbers. Shoving his hands back into his pockets he scrunched his shoulders up around his ears and blew out a breath. "Sam, I'm sorry. I shouldn't take this out on you," he began.

"It's okay." Sam shook her head and gave him a tired smile.

"No, it's not, I'm being a jerk," he returned her smile. "This just seems like a wild goose chase, another distraction, to keep us from doing what we should be doing," he went on. "This chapter of my life was closed a long time ago, what good is dredging it all back up now?"

"I don't know, maybe nothing," she agreed, "maybe it will be a colossal waste of time. But aren't you even a little bit curious about what Adria meant?" Sam's wide blue eyes revealed her own thirst for knowledge. "Or how you're able to do the things you do? Don't you wish you could get that year of Ascension back and see what you were capable of?" The elevator doors slid open at Level 21 and she walked out, her enthusiasm propelling her a few strides down the hallway before she realized that Daniel had moved from the elevator but was not following her.

"What?" Frowning, she returned to her teammate's side. Noticing the awkward look on his face and the way he wouldn't meet her eyes she quickly ran through the conversation of the last few minutes. "Daniel," Carter said sharply, "what have you remembered?"

Glancing at the Stargate personnel who were innocently trying to get to the base elevator and pretending they weren't witnessing this scene, Daniel reached out and took Sam's elbow, drawing her closer to his side and urging her to keep up. "Oh, this and that," he stated lightly.

Wrenching her arm from his grasp she confronted him angrily. "God, Daniel, no wonder people feel like they have to pry your brain open with a can opener, why didn't you tell us?" Her eyes darted back and forth between his, not buying their innocent routine for once.

"Sam…"

"No, this time I'm getting a straight answer out of you, Daniel," she insisted sharply.

"…this really isn't the place…"

Carter stood her ground and crossed her arms, willing to be the irresistible force that finally had a chance of breaking the immovable object of Daniel Jackson's pigheadedness. Cocking her blonde head, she simply stared, unblinking.

"Fine," he relented. "You want to know what I remember about being Ascended? You really want to know?"

"Yes, I really want to know!" A nearby airman cleared his throat noisily and they both looked up to see a small crowd gathering on either side of them.

"Do you want to…"

"Should we maybe…"

They each gestured to the hall leading to the base infirmary, turned, and resumed walking. After a few moments Daniel spoke. "It happened gradually, after I started meditating with Teal'c and we were able to rescue Bra'tac and Rya'c from Ba'al's labor camp."

"And?"

"And, and the memories started coming back. First as flashes, like that first time, something would catch the corner of my eye, or my mind, I guess. Some of them were confusing, disjointed, probably something like you experienced with Jolinar's memories on Netu."

She couldn't believe it. "You remember everything?"

"No," he replied quickly, "not everything." He shook his head and gazed at the stripes painted on the concrete floor. "There are big gaps. There's nothing about my interaction with any other Ascended beings, none the arguments that I apparently was involved in out there somewhere," he gestured at the ceiling of the corridor. "The sharpest memories are about people – lowers, as I was taught to think of them. The people on Abydos, the Cimmerians, the Enkarans."

"You traveled to all those worlds?"

"It wasn't really like traveling," Daniel tried to explain, "I thought of them, and I was there. It was almost as if I existed everywhere at the same time, and if I focused on something for a moment I was more fully there, with those people, on that particular world, at that moment in time."

"I guess that makes sense," Sam admitted cautiously, "if Ascended beings exist as energy you wouldn't be connected to any one physical location. It would be like light filling up a room – it is more concentrated at some points, but it diffuses throughout the space and allows one to see everything in that space. Only, for Ascended beings, I suppose the space we're talking about is the universe." She stopped just as the two were about to enter the infirmary area. "But this is incredible, Daniel, you must have known that I'd be interested in this, that the other scientists on the base might be able to use some of this information. What kept you from telling me?"

"What kept me from telling you," Daniel echoed quietly. "Sam, think about it."

"Right," Sam blustered, still frustrated that one of her closest friends had kept what could be a monumental breakthrough into understanding the universe from her for three years. "I get it; you didn't want to be a science experiment, a guinea pig. You just wanted to get back to your life."

"That's not it," he interrupted, wiping one hand across his forehead. Daniel lowered his voice and leaned forward, wanting her to understand. "No, that would not have been pleasant – for me – to be put under a microscope. But I wasn't thinking about me. Not then, anyway."

Confused, Carter frowned at the pained expression on Daniel's face. What could he have remembered that - suddenly everything fell into place and a flood of images stormed through her mind, her own memories of those first few days after Daniel's death, of the colonel's torture at the hands of Ba'al, of a year of missions and ordeals and loss that had culminated in SG-1's journey back to Abydos. She reached out to clutch at Daniel's arm. "O my God, you were there, weren't you? You were there with us the entire time."

Daniel lowered his head. "I tried not to be, believe me. Watching helplessly as Ba'al," Daniel couldn't bring himself to say the words. He struggled to change mental gears, "watching Teal'c fight to survive without a symbiote, watching you grieve, for me, and for Jack when you thought he was lost," Daniel turned away, blinking furiously. "You never talked about it – well, not you and Jack, anyway. I knew you wanted to forget, to pretend that it didn't happen, knew you two were probably trying to shield me from the knowledge of what you went through while I was determined to go along with it and pretend that I didn't know."

Composing his face into its habitual scowl he turned back to face his teammate. "It got easier after a while," he insisted firmly. "The four of us had enough memories that we were all willing to admit to that I just let time swallow up these new ones. I suppose it's like any bad memories – you learn to put them away somewhere, behind some locked door in your mind."

He was right. They'd never talked about that year – it was as if they'd all decided to forget it ever happened. Daniel came back and was immediately caught up into the fight against Anubis, almost without blinking. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

"For what?" Daniel seemed genuinely surprised. "For liking Jonas? For accepting my loss? Sam, you have nothing to apologize to me for," he denied. "I'm just sorry I wasn't there for you. Well, not, you know," he ended, waving his hands feebly.

Laughing, she grabbed Daniel into a quick, non-military hug. "And yet, you were," she replied. "I just hope that, as an Ascended being you were gentleman enough to close your ethereal eyes when I was in the shower."

He had the good sense to keep a straight face when she released him. "We of the higher planes have no interest in such worldly matters," he chanted, airily. Carter gave him a swift push and he stumbled unceremoniously through the open doorway into the medical lab.

Inside the medical area, Dr. Carolyn Lam was waiting for them, face carefully blank. "Not the sort of reaction I was expecting to these orders, Dr. Jackson, I have to admit." She moved her lab coat out of the way and placed her hands on her hips. "Frankly, I'm surprised to see you here so quickly. That jackass from Area 51 isn't going to get here until 14:00."

"Yeah," Daniel began, distracted by the sight of technicians setting up complicated machinery around an isolated bed, including the device they retrieved from Anubis' lab. "Wait, what? What jackass?"

"The IOA is sending some neurologist from Area 51. Apparently he's being touted as the foremost authority on advanced brain development." The heavy undercurrent of sarcasm beneath Dr. Lam's words revealed more than professional rivalry. "He's been focusing his research on the information we've gathered from monitoring Khalek, Orlin, and the priors, and has been attempting to tie in some aspects of the Tok'ra memory recall device." Lam held a thick file in both hands and gestured towards a display on her computer screen. Raising her eyebrows in faux admiration, she explained, "The IOA told General Landry that he's made some remarkable discoveries."

"The memory recall device? Those technologies are completely unrelated," Samantha Carter stepped past Daniel and held out one hand for the file while she studied the tables and diagrams on the screen.

"I know," Carolyn Lam plainly agreed with her colleague. "I've run dozens of tests on Dr. Jackson, and nothing in the results has ever raised a blip on the radar."

Daniel had barely opened his mouth to agree when he was cut off by Carter's reply. "True, but you've never used the brain scanner we brought back from Anubis' lab. Although how you'd tie in the Tok'ra mechanism, I have no idea." She grabbed a stool and rolled it over so that she could sit in front of the doctor's computer more comfortably.

Squinting at the complex figures on the screen over her shoulder, Daniel tried again. "So who…"

"He might have followed the neural pathways targeted by the Tok'ra device in order to try to retrieve deeper, more unconscious memories. If his theory is that any extraordinary powers the priors utilize are accessed through use of those areas of the brain then I suppose that would make sense." Dr. Lam efficiently brushed Daniel out of the way so that the two women could examine the information. "I still think he's a jackass, though," she added.

"Excuse me," Daniel perched on the edge of the infirmary bed and tried to get the scientists' attention. "Who's a jackass?"

"Oh, sorry, Dr. Jackson," Lam turned towards him with an ironic twist to her mouth that wasn't exactly a smile. "Dr. James Forsner, MD, PhD. He's been working at Area 51 since SG-1 and Janet Frasier brought Ayiana back from the Antarctic. Apparently, his research into her healing abilities was going nowhere until we discovered Anubis' lab." She hesitated before gesturing at the file that was hanging from Carter's fingers. "From what the general just sent me, it seems Dr. Forsner has been trying to get his hands on you for quite some time, Dr. Jackson."

"Really?" Carter spun around to meet Daniel's eyes.

"There are quite a few letters in there written from Forsner and his superiors requesting your transfer to Area 51 to 'help them with their research'." Lam reached into her pockets for a pair of gloves and pulled them on as she walked around to the head of the bed and began searching among the items on the metal tray positioned there.

"I have to say," Daniel said slowly, watching her progress carefully, "that sounds vaguely disturbing."

"Vague or not," Sam stated, "I'm glad this eager beaver is coming here where we can supervise."

"Didn't you threaten me with a can opener just a minute ago?" Daniel shot to Sam over his shoulder, keeping his eyes fixed on the shiny tools in the doctor's hand.

Dr. Lam's smile was genuine this time. "Don't worry, we'll get all the routine stuff out of the way so that you're ready for Dr. Frankenstein when he gets here this afternoon."

"I feel so much better," Daniel muttered.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

"You think I don't know that, Jack?" Landry paced across the small area between his desk and the door, the red phone pressed against his ear. "For over a year now I've had to pull in just about every favor I had left to keep him out of Area 51's hands." A sharp knock at his office door registered as the general reached the cord's length and trudged away from his desk again.

Landry swung the door open and gestured Teal'c and Mitchell inside with a jerk, still intent on his conversation. "Well, that's what I thought I was doing by calling you," he said, "bringing in the big guns."

Mitchell and Teal'c stood self-consciously, trying not to seem interested in the general's side of the conversation. Landry finally stopped his pacing and a slight smile brightened his dour expression. "Yes, you are, Jack. In a universe of pop-guns, you are my 50 cal." After a short pause he rolled his eyes at the two members of SG-1. "Fine. You can be a phaser if you'd rather. I'll keep you informed." Landry banged the phone back onto his desk and dropped into his chair, motioning the two men to their seats.

"You were speaking with O'Neill," Teal'c observed, "concerning the situation with Daniel Jackson."

The general's eyes locked onto Mitchell's. "I take it you haven't had a chance to fill in all the details, Colonel?"

Squirming uncomfortably in his seat, Mitchell turned to the Jaffa. "The IOA is sending in some expert from Area 51 to poke around in Jackson's head. Seems they've been itchin' to take a look in there for a while now."

If it was possible, Teal'c's frown deepened. "I do not believe this is a wise course of action. Does the IOA not have confidence in Dr. Lam's qualifications?"

Landry snorted. "The IOA does not see Dr. Lam's relationship with the commander of the SGC to be an asset in determining appropriate procedures." His sarcastic tone revealed the personal insult he took to the insinuation that his daughter was unprofessional, and that his own integrity was somehow lacking. "Let's just say that the IOA is questioning her impartiality."

"That's ridiculous," Mitchell snapped. "The woman is highly capable and incredibly good at her job. If anything I think she bends over backwards to keep her distance from your command decisions, sir."

"I appreciate the sentiment, son," Landry replied, "but you're preaching to the choir. Until the Pentagon or someone with more political clout than one Air Force general says otherwise, Dr. Jackson will be turned over to this Dr. Forsner. The best I could do was to make sure that any testing is performed here under the direction of our own medical personnel."

"Yeah, but for how long, sir? Maybe we won't need Jackson on this mission, but you know that he is our best bet for locating this weapon Merlin hid in our galaxy." Mitchell leaned forward across the general's desk. "We need him, sir, and not as a giant pincushion."

"I am well aware of that, colonel," Landry sighed. "But you're going to have to get by without him for, at the very least, this mission. We'll try to make sure you won't have to get used to it."

Mitchell rose from his seat, hearing the command, "Dismissed" even if the general hadn't actually said it. Teal'c levered himself out of the chair more slowly, blocking Mitchell's movement towards the door. "And if Daniel Jackson does not wish to undergo such testing?" He glanced between Landry and Mitchell, but saw only doubt. "Many years ago when I first allied myself with your world and left the service of the false god Apophis, your scientists wished to remove me from this base in order to perform experiments on me and upon my symbiote. It was O'Neill who told me of these rights which your people embrace – including the right to refuse such testing. As a citizen of your country, does not Daniel Jackson also have these rights?"

"Of course he does," Landry responded quickly, almost angrily, "he has every right to refuse to cooperate with this business. If I thought there was a chance in hell that he would, I would feel a whole lot better."

Teal'c's eyebrow shot up and he tilted his head in confusion. "You do not wish him to comply, and yet did you not order him to report to the infirmary?"

"Teal'c," Mitchell began, looking to the general for permission to speak and receiving a weary nod. "There's a fine line here. Jackson isn't military, so he doesn't have to follow orders – he could just walk away from this entire thing."

"That is unlikely," Teal'c replied.

"Right. And that's the problem. Jackson knows, hell, better than most people, how important it is for us to find a way to fight the Ori. As long as he thinks there is the slightest chance that he could help us find a weapon, do you really think he'll back away?" Mitchell waved one arm towards the window that showed the vacant briefing room. "That little temper tantrum a few minutes ago was more about losing time to research his newest brainstorm than it was about refusing to follow up a lead."

"Perhaps," Teal'c reluctantly admitted, not entirely convinced.

"At this point," Landry added, rising, "I'm not sure how much weight his refusal might carry, given the state of our defenses. 'The worst time to make a moral decision is when you're looking down the barrel of a gun,'" he quoted.

"Patton?" Mitchell guessed.

"No, that one was Bob Dylan," the general replied with a rueful smile.

vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

Mitchell stood motionless in the shower, his head bowed, allowing the hot water to beat out the most recent aches and pains. The bruises he received from his infrequent sparring matches with the powerful Jaffa were worth it – both for the outlet it gave to Teal'c's frustration and as a barometer of his current attitude towards Mitchell's command. A few raised eyebrows and an occasional hard stare did not do the commander of SG-1 a whole lot of good, but the force of Teal'c's repeated strikes against Mitchell's right shoulder blade was a pretty good indication of the man's disapproval of the current situation. Not that Mitchell could blame him.

He knew his mind hadn't been on their workout today. Usually that was a good thing – he could let his body react, seek natural openings, avoid over-thinking. All that bought him today was a headache to go along with everything else. He rolled his shoulders experimentally. Not bad. On the Cameron Mitchell pain scale it barely registered, but shouldering his regulation pack during this recon was certainly going to be a constant reminder of just how pissed Teal'c was. He sort of wished the pain was worse, just to serve as a distraction from his churning thoughts.

Maybe the IOA was right. Maybe Jackson should be benched permanently, left here to do research, safe in his book-lined lab sipping coffee and coming up with ridiculously complex theories. Face it, he told himself, if he hadn't been so determined to get the band back together Jackson would have gone to Atlantis, wouldn't have been tempted to mess around with those Ancient communication stones and the Ori would never have found out about the humans in the Milky Way who were ripe for conquest. Carter would be up to her neck in physics experiments, and whatever else she left the SGC to accomplish, and Teal'c would have been able to focus all of his attention on building Jaffa independence. But no, he had to pull them all back to SG-1 just to satisfy his own need to work with the best. So what if they were the best? Even General O'Neill had moved on to greener pastures. Surely Jackson, Carter, and Teal'c had given enough over the past ten years to earn the posting of their choice; that same promise O'Neill had given Mitchell in the convalescent hospital shouldn't have drawn SG-1 back into the line of fire. No, Mitchell did that all by himself. He reached up to turn off the water, grabbed his towel, and headed towards the locker room.

After slogging through three miles of constant drizzle on P2L-688, Mitchell wondered why he'd bothered with the shower in the first place. He adjusted his pack – again – and did a quick check of the area to either side of the cobblestone path that led from the Stargate to the village. The thin trees that lined the seldom-traveled path didn't make for much cover, but, visibility being what it was he doubted if he'd see any hostiles coming until they were close enough to spit on. Not that the intel on this planet indicated that he should expect an unfriendly reception, but they'd been burned too many times before for him to relax his guard.

Holding up one fist, he brought the team to a halt just as the path began a tight turn to the left. Teal'c was the last to join the group and kept his eyes trained on the rear. Mitchell watched the water slide down the Jaffa's face – he was the only member of SG-1 to reject any type of headgear to deflect the rain – apparently hats were a sign of weakness. Vala tightened the chin strap on her boonie hat and tugged on the zipper of her green BDU jacket, trying to close off every opening to the intrusive rain.

"Okay, according to the UAV, the village should be right around this bend." Mitchell raised his voice slightly, speaking just loud enough to reach the ears of his team, but not any further. "After we make nice with the locals, determine whether or not they've heard about the newest rage in homicidal cults, our mission is to check out the ruins on the north edge of the settlement."

"Daniel thinks the markings picked up by the UAV might be inscriptions in an Ancient dialect," Vala reminded the others. "I just hope this rain lets up so that I can get some good pictures." She proudly patted the plastic-encased camera that she was keeping in one of the deep pockets along the sides of pant legs.

"Yeah, well, as uncomfortable as this weather is, I've gotta admit, I'm kinda relieved I'm not back at the nice warm SGC with a Daniel Jackson who's been warned off caffeine until the neurologist gets through with him," Mitchell shook his head sharply and the rain flew off the bill of his cap as he turned to continue trudging towards the village.

"He was a little touchy during the mission briefing, wasn't he?" Carter remarked, pacing next to Mitchell.

"'A little touchy?'" Vala observed sarcastically, walking close behind the two Air Force colonels as if trying to shelter there from the elements. "The man practically bit my head off when I was experimenting with the camera settings."

"You were not experimenting," Teal'c grumbled from the rear, "you were attempting to film him during the entire mission briefing in extreme close-up."

"Well, you didn't mind," Vala tossed over her shoulder.

Teal'c hesitated, raising one eyebrow at Vala's slim back before continuing on his team's six.

The village was similar in architecture and degree of cultural advancement to the one they'd found on the Camelot planet, but the resemblance ended there. Some of the buildings were in disrepair, and many seemed uninhabited. There was no bustling marketplace, no clamor of voices, no scurrying children underfoot. The team stayed together, scanning the shuttered windows of the houses that looked like they were still occupied as they made their way along the pathway to the open area. At its center, one step up, was a platform of some sort, lined with the same cobblestones as the path. A wooden bracket sat in the precise center and housed a large iron bell.

"Now what?" asked Carter, squinting into the alleys that ran between the buildings surrounding the square.

"Could we not proceed directly to the ruins?" Teal'c suggested, moving to stand between Col. Carter and Mitchell.

"Or…" A deep, echoing peal resounding from the rear sent the three whirling to face the threat, P90s leveled, to find Vala standing next to the swinging bell, one hand still resting on the wooden handle.

"Vala," Mitchell ground out the name between clenched teeth, stepping quickly to still the swinging. "Don't make me shoot you," he warned.

A child's cry, instantly silenced, turned the team to a nearby structure, the wooden door creaking open to reveal an elderly man in homespun clothes. He glanced behind him once before closing the door firmly and stepping out into the lessening rain. His short beard was white, his long hair, caught up in a leather thong behind his back, still showed traces of black, and his eyes were a bright green, matching the creeping vines that grew up over the walls of his home.

"The bell has been rung this forenoon," he began, his voice hoarse with age. "Those of the cogni attend the Ancestors at the temple." He waved one thin arm along the path that continued through the village. His thin shirt flapped against his pale skin, revealing long thin scars that trailed down his arm to his wrist.

"I didn't mean to disturb you," Mitchell began, approaching the old man slowly. "We were just wondering …" A dark haired blur shot past him and stepped up to the man, startling him into taking one step backwards.

"Hi there, my name is Vala Mal Doran. We're peaceful explorers from the planet Earth," smiling brightly, Vala continued, "Well, actually, I'm not from Earth, originally, but we have just come from Earth, so I suppose you could say that…"

"Vala!" Mitchell's abrupt interruption closed her mouth with a snap. Taking one arm in a tight grasp, he dragged her backward as he passed.

"You are the Caryph?" the old man addressed Mitchell, his sharp gaze taking in the colonel's rough handling of the young woman.

"I'm sorry, Caryph?" Carter queried, wishing that the man who spoke over 23 different languages had come along.

"Caryph. Procep_._" The man glanced between the two. "You speak for the others," he explained.

"Right. That would be me," Mitchell nodded. "Colonel Cameron Mitchell, Earth. We've come to meet your people."

"Colonel." The old man brought his right arm across his chest as if he were pledging allegiance to the flag, the other arm hung limply at his side. "My name is Eneas. I would make you welcome to our village, but it is no longer my place." He dropped his arm and gestured again towards the path. "The others will be returning from temple soon. They will greet you properly." He turned his back and reached for the door.

"Wait," Mitchell started toward the old man. "Maybe we could ask you some questions while we wait."

Eneas looked at the colonel over his shoulder. A smile touched his face briefly. "While I would I might stop and marvel at your words, the time is fleeting. The Ancestors will not await an old man's curiosity, and I would not put my village to the trial." Slowly reaching out one hand he touched the sleeve of Mitchell's uniform. "Perhaps the cogni will allow us to meet again."

"That'd be cool," Mitchell responded quietly, watching as Eneas nodded and shuffled back through the door. The sound of a sturdy bar falling into place on the other side effectively closed off that avenue of information. "That was weird," he stated, turning back to his team.

"I'll say," Vala began.

"And you," Mitchell raised one finger and stuck it in Vala's face. "Who died and made you official bell-ringer and tour guide of SG-1?" Her eyes widened in alarm. "Just because Jackson isn't here to keep tabs on you doesn't mean you get to run off and do whatever you please."

"I didn't…"

Mitchell thrust his finger even closer, and Vala bent backwards to avoid being poked in the eye. "What you didn't do was think, did you? What if that bell called out the local militia, or summoned a prior? Then what?"

Vala looked to Teal'c and Carter for support, but collected only angry glares. "Okay, I get it." Mitchell kept his pose for a moment, and then dropped his hand and turned away. "But in my defense," Vala recovered, removing her hat and pulling her pigtails from under her jacket, "neither of those things happened, and we were able to meet a lovely representative from the local population."

Carter and Teal'c roamed the open plaza, checking down the narrow passages between buildings. Without straying too far from the central square they could tell that the outlying buildings were in even worse repair than those that faced the pathway. While smoke rose from many of the chimneys close by, bringing smells of roasting meat and other cooking aromas, the structures that were more distant had an uninhabited, decaying feel to them. The silence, broken only by the intermittent drips of runoff from nearby roofs had more of a stifling quality than a peaceful one.

Mitchell continued to direct glares at the unrepentant Vala while she unpacked the digital camera and began recording their surroundings, complete with running commentary.

"After a fantastic walk in the rain we arrived in the beautiful village of P2L-688 where we met one citizen named Eneas, who welcomed Colonel Mitchell as the Caryph of our little group, and then promptly went home, due, no doubt, to our intrepid leader's winning smile and sparkling personality." She spun slowly, taking in the plaza, SG-1, and the tightly shuttered structures in the area. Strolling down the northbound path, she panned from side to side. "Apparently the temple is located in this direction, and, based on the UAV photos, probably refers to the ruins that you are so anxious that we explore, Daniel. Oh, hello." She lowered the camera quickly.

Sam was the closest, and hurried over to Vala's location. "What?"

"That looks familiar." Vala pointed at what remained of a series of archways that ran along one side of the road. "The ruins from the recon photos had sections like this, didn't they?"

"Very similar," Carter agreed, running one hand along the surface of the grey stone. "I don't see any markings though, do you?"

"Nope," Vala raised the camera again and adjusted the settings. "Maybe it was some kind of public building?"

"I don't think so," Sam deduced as Teal'c and Mitchell joined them. "If the temple of the Ancestors is in this direction, this might have been some kind of covered walkway, or aisle for penitents."

"Okay, now you're channeling Jackson," Mitchell quipped. Resting his hands on the butt of his P90, he stuck his head through one of the remaining arches and scanned the other side, finding more blank grey stone.

"Colonel Mitchell." Teal'c planted himself in the center of the path and fingered his weapon, his gaze locked on the group of people that had just come into sight around a corner to the north.

"Yep," Mitchell stepped up next to Teal'c, trying to keep a causal pose. "I see them. I guess church is over and it's time for Sunday dinner. I sure hope their cornbread recipe is as good as Aunt Emma's."

The four waited as the group of two or three dozen adults came closer. The men and women walked slowly, haltingly, along the damp pathway, some with their arms wrapped around each others' shoulders. Their dress didn't match Mitchell's idea of "Sunday-going-to-meeting" clothes, but both men and women were wearing dark pants and thick, padded shirts with tight-fitting sleeves that covered their arms past the wrist. As the crowd neared and caught sight of the strangely dressed travelers, pale faces turned towards one another and the people began to whisper, some stopping in small clusters, and others merely slowing. A few middle-aged men approached cautiously, motioning to the others to wait. A tall, black haired man, clearly the leader of the group, wearing a long vest over his thickly padded shirt, stepped forward.

"I am Adano, Caryph of this village." His thick brows drew together over a prominent nose as he examined the SG team. "Blessings of the Etavia," he offered guardedly.

"Right back at you," Mitchell replied cheerfully. "I'm Colonel Cameron Mitchell, ah, Caryph of SG-1. We're explorers from far away."

A few in the crowd behind Adano made the same saluting gesture that Eneas had used, while the spokesman merely nodded his head. "You have arrived too late for the Tegera; we have just completed the ceremony and are on our way to replenish ourselves."

"See, what'd I tell you," Mitchell muttered to Teal'c out of the corner of his mouth. "Yeah, sorry we missed it," he addressed the leader again, "but we'd like to spend some time here, talking with you and your people, if that's okay with you."

Adano glanced back in confusion at the few men surrounding him. "You did not attend the Tegera_,_" he repeated.

"Ah, right." Mitchell mimicked Adano's movement and made eye contact with Carter. "Like I said, we're sorry about that, but we just arrived in your village a few minutes ago." Meeting only blank stares, Mitchell tried again. "We came through the Stargate - the big ring at the other end of this pathway."

"The Astra Pera?" A woman stepped out from a small group in the rear, her dark eyes wide. She lurched, staggering slightly, until another woman moved to her side and reached out to steady her. Adano snapped a silencing glare in her direction.

Carter frowned. "'Astra Pera?'" She turned to Teal'c, "Didn't Daniel say that in Ancient 'Stargate' translated to…"

"Astria Porta," Teal'c confirmed. His low voice carried clearly across the area, and the villagers suddenly grew animated, some repeating the salute, while others dropped to their knees and hid their faces.

What little color had been in Adano's cheeks promptly fled, and he stumbled towards Mitchell. Squaring his shoulders, the Caryph, with some effort, looked the colonel in the eye. "You have been sent from the Etavia to put us to the trial?"

"Oh, man," Mitchell sighed. "Look," he raised his voice so that all of the villagers could hear him, "we don't know what this 'Etavia' is, but we weren't sent here to hurt you, or to put anyone on trial. We're just people, like you, and the only reason we're here is to meet you, and maybe become friends."

"Please," Sam hurried toward one of the women who had collapsed onto the pathway, sobbing hysterically. She crouched down next to her and placed one hand on the woman's back. "We won't hurt you."

The woman raised her colorless face. "But the Etavia are cruel," she wailed.

"Maira!" Adano's rebuke immediately silenced the woman and she dropped her face into her hands, weeping softly.

"Forgive her," the Caryph pleaded, "she is still weak from the Tegera. It is all that some of our cogni can do to endure it. You are Caryph – you understand," he seemed anxious that Mitchell relate their situation.

"Sure," Mitchell hesitantly agreed.

"You came through the Astra Pera?" One of the men who had approached SG-1 with Adano spoke in hushed tones, his gaze flicking quickly over each team member.

"I'm sure what Caryph Colonel means is their village lies beyond the Astra Pera," Adano suggested loudly, turning to address all of his people. "Calm yourselves." He turned back to Mitchell and narrowed his eyes in warning.

"You could say that," Mitchell allowed himself to agree.

Adano smiled, still playing to the crowd, and gestured expansively. "I welcome you to Hosta. Please join with us in our replenishment." Motioning for Mitchell to join him in the lead, he proceeded along the pathway towards the central plaza, moving confidently. As the colonel strode past his team, a look of silent understanding passed between them. Vala walked over to Sam's side and mingled with the women villagers, projecting warmth and reassurance, and Teal'c stepped off of the pathway and allowed the straggling villagers to precede him, keeping a careful eye on the rear while nodding pleasantly to those who passed.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

"Dr. Lam?"

The Chief Medical Officer of Stargate Command looked up from the half-finished plate of meatloaf she'd finally been able to make time for to find a tall, thin man fidgeting on the other side of the commissary table. She lowered her fork and adjusted her gaze to the SF standing beside the civilian, raising her eyebrows in query.

"Sorry, Dr. Lam, but Dr. Forsner insisted on finding you right away," the SF looked plenty nervous himself. Even though she wasn't military, Dr. Carolyn Lam had a way of impressing the airmen around her with how reverently she held any personal time she could find away from the infirmary, and how difficult she could make their lives during "routine" exams if that time was interrupted frivolously.

Nodding to relieve the SF, she took a long look at Dr. James Forsner. He didn't exactly live up to the picture she'd painted in her mind of an evil scientist twirling his black moustache and laughing over his sinister plan. He looked more like, well, a nerd. His tweed jacket hung slightly too big on his lanky frame and his plaid bowtie was neatly in place over a button-up shirt that might once have been white, but now resembled the color of oatmeal as if he'd thrown all of his clothes into the laundry together, just to save time for research. She checked for a pocket protector, but found that Forsner lacked only that one touch to be the long-lost twin of her junior high school chemistry professor.

"I'm so sorry to interrupt your lunch, Dr. Lam," Forsner stuck one large hand out in Carolyn's face as he swept into the chair opposite her and she found herself shaking it in self-defense. "It's just that I've been requesting this for so long now, and to find out that, not only am I going to be allowed to meet Dr. Jackson and attempt to discover the ramifications of his Ascension, but that I'm getting an all-expenses paid trip to the SGC itself, and getting to work with you, well," his enthusiastic grin lit up his entire face, "you can understand why I'm so excited."

"Uh-huh," Carolyn responded, nonplussed. "How did you find me?"

Forsner had the sense to look a bit sheepish. "Oh, well, after studying your file I figured us for kindred spirits in a sense, never leaving the lab unless we were about to give out from hunger or exhaustion, always trying to get in just one more experiment or test." He pushed up the sleeve on his left arm to reveal a large wristwatch. "At three o'clock in the afternoon, if I'm not in the lab, I'm hoping to catch some lunch before the dining hall closes down. And so…" he gestured at the empty tables in the commissary by way of explanation.

"Kindred spirits," the doctor echoed dryly. "So I assume you've been shown to the isolation room that is being prepared for your…experiments?" she asked before finally getting the next bite into her mouth.

Forsner winced. "I prefer to call it conducting research, but yes, I'll need about an hour to set up the equipment. I was wondering why you had chosen to set up in the Medical Isolation Room rather than in your regular, what, sick bay? Is that the right term? The testing doesn't pose a threat to anyone, doesn't release radiation or emit loud noises that would disturb other patients," he added quickly, "so instead of moving all of your equipment…"

"First of all," Dr. Lam wiped her mouth carefully and set the napkin on her tray, "this isn't the Starship Enterprise, so we don't have a 'sick bay,' and I don't think Dr. Jackson would be particularly eager to have every airman in sight watching while you put him through this _research_. The isolation room will allow the least disruption to the infirmary and to the patient. Speaking of whom," Lam held up one hand to stop Forsner's immediate reply, "I want it clearly understood that Dr. Jackson is my patient, first and foremost. I am the Chief Medical Officer of this facility, and that means that if I think your research is in any way harmful or contrary to his welfare I will stop you so fast –"

"Dr. Lam," Forsner's quiet voice effectively broke off the doctor's momentum. "Please don't mistake my enthusiasm for a lack of rigorous scientific protocol or a desire to ride roughshod over proper safeguards. I think of this as a collaborative effort between myself and Dr. Jackson, a way to help him access parts of his brain that might have been activated by his Ascended state, not as something that I'm doing _to_ him."

"Really." Forsner's seemingly sincere and passionate plea did not convince the doctor.

"Really," he insisted. "I would never do anything that Dr. Jackson did not agree to." He held Carolyn's skeptical gaze for a few long moments. "Now, if you're finished, I really would love to meet our patient." Forsner's enthusiasm returned with full force.

Daniel Jackson's enthusiasm was markedly absent when he reported to the isolation room dressed in the SGC standard black t-shirt and blue BDU trousers. He eyed the instruments clustered around the single pristine, white bed with some suspicion, and the over-eager doctor with even more. Crossing his arms across his chest in a typically defensive posture, he stood unmoved at the foot of the bed, watching closely as Forsner explained the various devices.

"You're familiar with this, of course," the doctor pointed to the scanner that Daniel and SG-1 had retrieved from Anubis' lab. When Daniel merely stared at the man stoically, he went on. "Of course you are. Well, we're going to start off with this and an electroencephalograph to try to determine if your brain is operating with a higher activity level than what we would see on a normal scan."

"And, assuming that you find anything different from the dozens of other scans that Dr. Jackson has been subjected to over the past few years," Dr. Lam inserted, "just what good will that do?" Attempting to distance herself physically from Forsner, she had taken up a position on the other side of the bed, her hands shoved into the pockets of her lab coat. "I mean, Orlin's scans showed a huge jump in synaptic activity, but it didn't give either him or us any insight into helping him safely hold onto his memories or his Ascended powers."

The uncooperative attitude of the SGC personnel didn't seem to daunt Dr. Forsner's zeal at all. Smiling he hurried over to an instrument table nearby, reaching for a small disc-shaped device. "Perhaps not, but then you weren't using the scanner in tandem with this modified Tok'ra memory technology."

Frowning in thought, Daniel couldn't remain silent. "You know I'm also somewhat familiar with that little item as well, right?"

"Yes, Dr. Jackson," Forsner nodded quickly. "But if we can have you concentrate on some of the memories from the time you were Ascended, memories that you've only recently recovered I understand," he couldn't help a reproachful glance at the archaeologist, "then we might find the areas of your brain that are stimulated when you concentrate on those particular memories."

"And you think that Dr. Jackson will be accessing different areas of the brain when he focuses on those memories than a normal person would when reliving his or her particular memories?" Dr. Lam found herself slightly intrigued by Forsner's approach, and cast a slightly apologetic look at Daniel as she uttered the words 'normal person.'

"Exactly!" Forsner practically yelped in excitement. "And, I believe, it is these areas of the brain that we will find the priors can utilize to perform their so-called miracles."

Carolyn turned towards Daniel and shrugged. "I hate to admit it, Dr. Jackson, but he might just be onto something here." She could see that Daniel was also struggling to hold onto his impassive attitude. "At the very least," she continued, "just pinpointing those areas of the brain, if they exist, should be completely safe."

"Okay," Daniel finally agreed. "If all it's going to take to prove that I'm completely normal," he looked pointedly at Dr. Lam, "is to dredge up some old memories, then I'm willing. But," he quickly quelled Forsner's reaction, "SG-1 is scheduled to report from P2L-688 in one hour and fifteen minutes, 17:30, and I want to be in the control room when that happens."

"No problem," Forsner made a small "x" over his heart with one finger.

Relieved that this little project was promising to be a much smaller headache than she'd initially imagined, Carolyn picked up a set of blue scrubs and held them out to Daniel. "C'mon," she coaxed when he simply stared in rejection at the glorified hospital gown. She leaned towards him conspiratorially and motioned towards the two young nurses busying themselves with their instruments. "They made me promise," she whispered. "They say these bring out your beautiful blue eyes." Carolyn kept her deceptively innocent gaze locked onto Daniel's until she saw the smile begin to tug at the corners of his mouth.

A few minutes later the doctors and nurses had Daniel propped up on the bed at a forty-five degree angle and hooked into several medical monitors, recording every breath and every heartbeat. He wriggled the pulse-ox clamped onto his left index finger and looked down at the needle in his right arm – "Just a precaution," Dr. Lam had advised. Forsner reached behind his head and switched on the brain scan device and Daniel imagined he could feel the red beams emitted by the machine on the back of his head. The neurologist had already advised him that the usual scalp electrodes would not be necessary to monitor his brain activity as Anubis' gadget was designed to elicit much more precise readings than current medical technology on Earth. Forsner had tied the scanner into the base's monitors and his own laptop computer, and had developed his own hand-held monitor that he constantly referred to, making minute adjustments every few minutes.

Daniel couldn't help feeling an instant of trepidation as Forsner fingered the silver Tok'ra memory recall device. Glancing down the length of the bed Daniel noticed the apparatus that, when connected to the small instrument, expanded into a viewing screen. "Ah," Daniel held up one hand to stop Forsner from attaching the disk to his temple. "You're using the view screen? Why?"

"I've found that it is much easier for the patient to focus on recalling particular memories if he views them physically, rather than if he merely sees them in the inner eye, so to speak," the doctor explained. At Daniel's continued frown, Forsner looked around at the nurses fussing with the various pieces of medical equipment. "If you're concerned that you won't be able to completely control your memories, and that there might be some things you'd rather not share with others…"

"You could say that," Daniel murmured.

"I suppose we could clear the room." Forsner looked to Dr. Lam for her approval.

"Tell you what," she suggested, "I can keep an eye on the monitors from the observation room. If I turn off the speakers only the two of you will actually see and hear what is projected on the view screen." Receiving a grateful nod from Daniel she dismissed the others from the isolation room and placed one hand on her patient's arm. "I'll be right up there," she pointed to the window that faced the bed.

Daniel smiled and watched the young woman leave the room, the large metal door sliding shut firmly behind her.

"I understand this stings a bit," Forsner commented as he pressed the Tok'ra device firmly against Daniel's right temple.

The sharp pain brought with it an instant sense memory and Daniel found himself kneeling before a disfigured Apophis.

"_Your mate Amonet is dead." The oppressive heat of the prison moon choked him as thoroughly as the blind hatred of the being that stood in front of him. Apophis was alive – again – and Daniel muscles strained against the urge to throw himself at his throat and choke the life out of him._

"_Where is the child," Apophis raged, his armored fist knocking Daniel to the floor. He could taste the blood in his mouth and feel the raw grief of Share's death as a far worse wound in his spirit._

"_I won't tell you. I'll never tell you," he ground out between his clenched teeth. _

He didn't feel Dr. Forsner attach the thin filament to the blinking disc, nor adjust the input with a small stylus – he was there, in Sokar's Hell, watching the scene unfold just as it had all those years ago.

"Dr. Jackson. Dr. Jackson, can you hear me?" The voice didn't belong on the moon and Daniel twisted his head to try to identify the speaker. A shadow fell across his vision and, as if a dial had been turned, the pain and loathing that flooded him were swept into the background. He dragged his vision from the view screen and saw the worried face of Dr. Forsner bending over him. "I've turned down the input – I'm sorry, I wasn't expecting such an immediate reaction. Are you okay?"

Daniel closed his eyes and felt his heart slow its frantic pounding. He dragged in a deep breath and tried to relax his muscles.

"What the hell is going on down there?" Dr. Lam's voice sounded furious through the isolation room speakers.

Daniel opened his eyes and watched her anxiously searching the screens of the monitors in the observation room, monitors that were hardwired to display the same readouts of those surrounding him. "It's okay," he began.

"My fault," Dr. Forsner raised an embarrassed face toward the observation room glass. "The initial setting was apparently much too high and Dr. Jackson was thrown into an extremely unpleasant memory. The adrenalin hit him hard, but he's recovering quickly," he assured her before checking his readings.

"Let's make sure that doesn't happen again, shall we?" her sarcasm was unmistakable, and Dr. Forsner winced noticeably.

Daniel's gaze was dragged back inexorably to the view screen, but the images were hazy and uncertain, all swirling colors and fleeting images. The memory device bit painfully into his skin, and he could feel a slight electrical tingle surrounding the area, like a build-up of static electricity. He reached up to touch the small piece of metal, but Dr. Forsner blocked his hand.

"Just relax, Dr. Jackson," he said. "If you're feeling a bit of discomfort around the area of implantation, that's nothing to worry about."

"It feels…different," Daniel frowned.

"It's just a by-product of the modifications that I've made so that I can focus more specifically on certain memories. The slight increase in electrical energy helps us pinpoint a particular area of the brain. Think of it as a way to zoom in, to get greater clarity. Your system will adjust to the electrical current shortly." Forsner checked the leads on his equipment and turned back to his patient. "Ready to try again?"

"Uh," Daniel eyed the stylus in Forsner's hand, remembering Sam's reaction in the cargo bay of the Goa'uld ship when Martouf stimulated Jolinar's memories of torture. An image started to coalesce on the view screen and Daniel hastily began reciting Latin declensions under his breath.

"Please try to focus on anything you remember from your time as an Ascended being," the doctor suggested. He moved the stylus towards Daniel's right temple.

_His bare feet were cool against the tiled surface of the courtyard. He watched with awe as the glowing being reached out to touch his face with one tendril. A profound sense of loss overcame him as he stood before her, his mind and heart – the parts of himself that he always kept so tightly protected - completely exposed._

"_I'm going to see the two of you again, right?" he pleaded, trying to keep the longing out of his voice._

_He thought he saw a sad smile reach her eyes before she flowed away into the night sky._

"Wow," Daniel shook his head as the memory faded. He cleared his throat and attempted to pull his thoughts together. "I don't know how you've modified this device, but the memories are sharper, more intense, than any I've experienced using this technology before."

Forsner's eyes were still glued to the view screen. "Thank you," he muttered. "Was that…?"

"Oma Desala," Daniel explained, "the Ascended being who helped me on the path to enlightenment." He smiled to himself at how easy it was to fall back into that mindset. "The Ascended can look that way to human eyes if they choose to."

"Unbelievable." The doctor tore his eyes from the after-image and focused on the monitor that showed Daniel's brain activity. "Normal memory pathways are being stimulated. These first few readings can help us come up with a baseline for your particular brain pattern. They are as individual as fingerprints you know," he continued.

"So I've heard," Daniel agreed sardonically. "And we only use 10% of our brains, right?"

"Actually, that's not quite true," Forsner replied. "While we haven't mapped the entire human brain, neurologists are confident that humans utilize much of our brain's potential. Very few people, however, have a high percentage of synaptic activity occurring in every area at the same time." He glanced up at Dr. Lam in the observation room and made a quick adjustment. "That memory was from approximately two years before you Ascended, correct?"

Daniel nodded warily.

"Well, we're on the right track then."

Carolyn Lam kept her eyes on the monitor screens in front of her. Daniel's blood pressure was just about back to normal, as was his heart rate and respiration. Anger still simmered beneath her surface calm, drawing her mouth into a compressed line as she spared a glance through the window into the room below. She'd been tempted to disregard her previous word and leave the volume on in the observation room since that first surge of adrenalin had hit Daniel, but Forsner had appeared completely sincere in his repentance, and all of his subsequent forays into his patient's memories had much more controlled results. She managed to catch Daniel's eye and received an encouraging half-smile in return. Sighing she forced herself to sit back in her chair as Forsner touched the strange mechanism to Daniel's temple again.

_Shif'u – memories that were not memories – he had his mother's eyes – murdering millions in Russia – Shar'e's eyes – torturing his friends, and taking pleasure in it - "it's time to find a new path" – his last link to Shar'e gone – he could have been their child – that face inside the ribbons of light – gone – _

Forsner made another adjustment, slowly, while Daniel was caught up in his memories. The archaeologist's brain scans were fairly normal so far, but he knew it was just a matter of time. The trick was to fine-tune the electronic impulses he'd programmed into the Tok'ra device until they stimulated the correct part of the brain. He had to let Jackson's brain gradually accommodate the additional electrical activity or he'd provoke an event before he'd accumulated enough input. The initial surge had worked perfectly, allowing Forsner to overwhelm some of the monitoring equipment and upload the program from his hand-held computer that shunted false readings through the SGC system. Dr. Lam hadn't even noticed the blip as Jackson's actual vital signs were replaced with the normal readings he'd manufactured from archived medical records.

"Very good, Dr. Jackson," the neurologist murmured as the display on the view screen shuffled rapidly through various images. "You are getting closer. Try to focus on your actual Ascension."

The crease between Daniel's brows deepened as he tried to comply. Forsner smiled to himself – he'd been right about Jackson. After an initial period of stubborn resistance, the innate curiosity that practically burst from each of the archaeologist's mission reports had kicked in. Promising Dr. Lam that he "wouldn't do anything that Dr. Jackson didn't agree to" had just been meaningless chatter designed to put the medical woman's reservations to rest. After a few minutes alone with Jackson and some "interesting preliminary readings," he was positive that he could talk the man into letting him try just about anything.

"Perhaps if you focus on what was occurring right before it happened," Forsner suggested.

His memories came faster now, images of scenes and faces flashing across the view screen while emotions surged through him, paralyzing him. His eyes stared sightlessly – the thoughts demanded his attention, so immediate, so powerful. He remembered Jonas Quinn's terrified young face looking up at him when the naquadria experiment began to go so terribly wrong. Daniel fought against them, tried to push them away, but they pulled at him, drowning him…drowning…

_Drowning – he was drowning - pressure on his chest like knives making it impossible to breathe. Pain – tearing, scalding pain in every pore – just the pressure of the bandages on his face choked him with it. "This will not be your final act on official record." Jack rubbed one hand over his face - Teal'c, the strongest man he'd ever known, had tears in his eyes. "And I will have lost one of my greatest friends." Sam's utter sorrow ate at his soul. "I think my entire life has been a failure." Pain - so much pain._

Daniel's low moan was loud amid the soft hum of the machines and Forsner stole a glance at Dr. Lam in the observation room. She hadn't moved, still confident in the false readings she was being fed from her monitors. According to his hand-held device, Jackson's vital signs were bouncing all over the place; his heart was racing, his blood pressure rising, and, finally, his brain activity was increasing. The patient laid perfectly still, eyes focused somewhere in space in front of the view screen. Forsner tweaked the electrical output and Jackson's moan turned into a sharp gasp.

"_You can never reach enlightenment unless you believe you are worthy."_

"_Then I guess we may have a problem."_

_Let me go, please let me go._

"_You're just giving up?"_

_Let me go, Jack._

The synaptic activity was increasing dramatically. If Jackson's body could hold out against the stress for just a few more minutes, Forsner might actually get some very useful readings.

A piercing alarm cut through the air and red lights flashed from the observation room and a position high over the metal door. The images on the view screen cut off abruptly as Daniel Jackson shuddered, his mind and body trying to respond to the familiar sound while his consciousness was still deeply embedded in the past. Forsner clenched his teeth and began stepping-down the electrical impulses feeding into Jackson's brain through the Tok'ra implant. That alarm – he hadn't noticed it above the door. He'd been lucky: such a sudden shock might have thrown Jackson into a seizure – or worse.

"What?" Daniel breathed rapidly, confused by his surroundings.

"It's okay, Daniel," Carolyn Lam held the base telephone in one hand and leaned over the microphone in the observation room. "It's SG-12 dialing in from PR2-774. Apparently Major Clement slipped on some shale during the mineral survey and broke his ankle."

Daniel struggled to regain a firm grip on the present as Forsner continued to dial down the gain on the memory device. "What time is it?" he asked, automatically looking for the chrono that was not in its accustomed place on his wrist.

"It's just now 5:15, ah, 17:15, Dr. Jackson. We've only been working for about forty-five minutes. I'm sure it seemed longer to you, though," Forsner smiled at Daniel's disbelieving expression as he detached the slim filament that connected the view screen and began shutting down his equipment. "I suppose that alarm is something I'm going to have to get used to around here. I'm sure if we'd been working in the infirmary as I'd expected we wouldn't be subject to such interruptions."

"It happens," Daniel muttered, removing his glasses and pressing both hands against his eyes. He looked up blearily as the isolation room door slid back and Carolyn Lam moved quickly to his side. "Don't they need you in the infirmary?"

"For a broken ankle? I'm fairly sure my staff can get Major Clement x-rayed without me," she assured him. "How do you feel?" Carolyn studied him critically, surprised by the pallor of his skin and his elevated breathing rate. Had the alarm startled him so much?

"As I'm sure you noted," Dr. Forsner forestalled whatever Daniel was going to say as he placed his hand-held device in an inner pocket and reached over to switch off Anubis' brain scanner, "Dr. Jackson's vital signs remained within the normal range throughout the session, Dr. Lam."

"Yes," Carolyn replied with artificial brightness, "I did notice that. But, if you don't mind, I was asking Daniel how he felt. Not very scientific, I know," she sighed, "but try to humor me."

"I'm fine." The response was automatic. Daniel repositioned his glasses and pushed himself up to sit on the edge of the bed. Tugging the pulse-ox cable from his finger he addressed the two doctors firmly. "Now can someone unhook me so that I can get up to the control room before Mitchell dials in? The guy is annoyingly punctual."

Dr. Lam's deft fingers removed the IV, pressed a cotton ball against the tiny hole and folded Daniel's arm at the elbow to hold it in place. The blood pressure monitor and EKG pads quickly followed. "No headache, dizziness, blurred vision…?"

"Nope. Just a pain in my…"

"Daniel."

"…forehead," he concluded, touching the implanted Tok'ra device with one finger. A small electrical charge made him jerk his hand away.

"Oh, sorry about that," the neurologist stopped fidgeting with his equipment and walked around the bed to examine the device closely. "A residual charge within the mechanism allows the device to remain synchronized with your neural pattern after the first few uses," he explained. "I advise that we leave it in place until our research is completed so that we don't have to recalibrate it every time we use it." When both Lam and Jackson responded with hard looks he continued. "That way the initial 'jolt' you received when he began today won't be repeated. I assure you the device is completely deactivated – you aren't experiencing any vivid memories, are you Dr. Jackson?" Forsner spoke quickly – this was a critical moment. Had they really begun to trust him?

Daniel searched his mind for an instant before answering. "No," he finally admitted. He felt tired and a little…off, but there was nothing he could put his finger on.

"Excellent. Shall we meet back here after you've spoken with your friends then?" Dr. Forsner suggested eagerly.

"No, we won't," Carolyn Lam put her metaphorical foot down, squashing the man's scientific fervor. "Dr. Jackson will eat a healthy dinner, including no caffeine products," she warned, menacingly, maintaining eye contact with the stubborn archaeologist, "and will make an early night of it, while I review the test results that were recorded today. If I don't find anything unusual you can resume testing tomorrow morning." Daniel nodded and scooted off the bed, immediately anxious to leave the stark room. "I'd prefer if you stayed on the base tonight, Dr. Jackson," she continued.

"I was planning to." There was no way he'd leave the immediate vicinity of the Stargate while the rest of SG-1 was off-world, with or without caffeine, Daniel reflected. And 'an early night' was a relative term.

Relief caused Forsner's smile to be a bit broader than usual. "I look forward to your analysis, Dr. Lam, and to our further collaboration, Dr. Jackson." Yes, indeed he did.

vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

_Now_

"Receiving UAV telemetry, General," Master Sergeant Walter Harriman began to update the general before Landry had even stepped into the control room. "Scanning for Dr. Jackson's transponder signal."

Vala leaned over Harriman's shoulder, searching the monitor eagerly for any sign of Daniel. Of course, receiving a signal wouldn't tell them whether he was dead or alive – she shook her head, determined to derail that train of thought even if it meant risking a return bout of dizziness. "There!" She jabbed one finger at the screen in triumph.

"Looks like he's about one click from the 'gate, sir," Reynolds added, his eyes darting between the monitors in the control room, "but he's not alone."

As the Unmanned Aerial Vehicle drew closer to the gleaming blip that was Daniel Jackson, it began to pick up other images. Living beings gave off a standard heat signature that the array of sensors and programming in the complex device could translate into hard data and then relay back through the 'gate via a radio signal. Five compound signals were located almost on top of Daniel's faint reading.

"Jaffa." Harriman had seen enough images like this during his years sitting in this chair to put a name to them immediately.

"Yes, but how can we tell whether they are part of Ba'al's attack force, or some of the Jaffa you originally met on the planet?" The decision to send more teams through the 'gate sat precisely on General Landry's shoulders. The unwritten rule of the SGC whispered through his mind, as he knew it did Reynolds' and Harriman's and every other airman and marine's that stood ready in the 'gate room: Leave no man behind. While that mind-set made for a tightly woven family of units who operated with unfailing loyalty, it was not often sound strategy in military situations. And the weighing of one person's life against the lives of two or three SG teams – a decision that, by all rights, should be left to the angels – was a part of this command that still sent a trickle of cold sweat down the general's rigid spine.

"What the…" Harriman tapped out a command on his keyboard as Vala drew back from the screen with a groan.

"Have we lost the signal?" Reynolds demanded.

"No, sir," Harriman replied quickly even though all six indicator lights had suddenly disappeared.

"Well then where the hell did they go?" Landry frowned, searching the monitors as if he could locate the errant signals behind a stray pixel.

Vala sighed and rubbed the back of her neck with a weary hand. "Can you widen the image?"

Reynolds and Landry frowned at her, but the 'gate technician seemed to understand exactly what Vala was thinking. "Zooming out and panning up," he stated, concentrating on his controls. Silence descended as the UAV readings flickered and blurred before finally settling. The thermal imaging was almost overwhelmed by the brightness of the display lighting up the alien sky, and Harriman quickly filtered the images. The readings were unmistakable.

"We're too late," Vala closed her eyes briefly before turning to stand and face the general. "Ba'al has arrived. And he's got Daniel."

11111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111

**Thank you so much for all of your input and comments. I appreciate all remarks, observations or questions. Thanks for reading.**


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

_6 days earlier_

"Did you sleep well, Colonel Mitchell?"

"Teal'c, you are going to have to stop sneaking up on people," Mitchell complained as he lowered his hastily snatched P-90 and sat back on his heels. "Bells. I'm telling the quartermaster to sew bells into your vest, I swear to God." The commander of SG-1 adjusted the small mirror he had propped up on the broken table-top and resumed shaving, trying to ignore the slight smile that played over Teal'c's face. Adano and the village cogni – which they guessed meant council or elders – had let the team bed down in one of the many abandoned homes at the south end of the village when the nightly rainstorm began. He glanced around at the holes in the thatched roof and broad puddles that lay along one wall. Not exactly the Hilton Metrotown, but it sure beat tenting it in the storm that had rolled through last night.

Peering through the tattered paper that had once covered the only window in the one room house, Teal'c remained uneasy and watchful, with a tension that had begun to build when SG-1 was invited to a meal with the Hosta families yesterday afternoon, and had only increased the longer they stayed. The villagers had made no hostile gestures, and did not seem capable of threatening the well-equipped team - in fact, the group of ruling elders that they met on their way back from the temple were weak and frightened, and were greeted gently by their neighbors at the central plaza with warm food and blankets, as if they were children, or were recovering after a long illness. The fact that Teal'c's gold brand did not elicit any more attention than Colonel Carter's blonde hair, or Vala Mal Doran's camera, meant that these people were unfamiliar with Jaffa, and perhaps did not even know of the Goa'uld. That in itself should allow some relaxation of the former First Prime's natural suspicions. Instead his instincts sent his defenses into high alert – he had not allowed himself to close his eyes last night, even when ordered to do so by Colonel Mitchell. The storm could have served as a perfect cover for a well-timed assault on their less-than-secure dwelling, but none had come. "You did not answer my question Colonel Mitchell."

Mitchell wiped his face and began stowing his shaving gear before replying. "Since you ask, no, Teal'c, I didn't sleep well."

"Then you, too, believe that these people are not being completely truthful with us."

"I don't know," Mitchell zipped his backpack and pushed himself to his feet, "it might be that," he checked the ammo clip in his weapon before he snapped it to his vest, "or, it might be because of the big honking thunderstorm that was parked over our little bungalow for most of the night."

The Jaffa raised one eyebrow and inclined his head. "A true warrior can sleep in any weather," he observed.

"Yeah, yeah," Mitchell responded, "true warrior, blah, blah, blah. According to Carter these kinds of storms are par for the course for this season. Something about magnetic poles, or differential heating, or some other damn thing I wasn't listening to." Mitchell walked to the only exit in the house – a narrow doorway in the front wall - and looked through the Jaffa-sized gap between the door frame and the heavy wooden plank that served as a door. "And, anyway, I didn't see you sleeping much last night, either, Master Jaffa."

"I did not." Teal'c turned back to the limited view allowed by the small window.

Mitchell snapped the cover from his wrist chrono. "06:20 SGC time, that makes it, what, around 09:00 here? Maybe it's 'gate-lag or something, but I definitely have a bad feeling." He flipped the cover back in place.

"I do not believe we should remain in this village for a long period of time, Colonel Mitchell." Teal'c continued to scan the area, his hand clutching his weapon tightly. "There is much we do not understand."

"I hear you," Mitchell responded, easing the wooden plank back into place. "Old Adano is a born politician, can't seem to answer a direct question if his life depended on it. All that time we spent yesterday and I don't think we got one straight answer out of anybody."

"The village leaders treated you with some respect," Teal'c added.

"Yeah, but, I gotta tell you, that guy makes you want to count your fingers after you shake hands with him." He prodded a pile of broken crockery with the toe of his boot. "I thought we might be getting somewhere with the older guy – Eneas – if we could get him by himself he might be willing to talk." Something caught Mitchell's eye and he squatted down, sifting through the clay shards with one hand. "Jackson is going to have an aneurism if he doesn't get to come and play with these ruins, soon," he muttered.

"Perhaps Daniel Jackson will give Colonel Carter some insight into the strange expressions used by these people when she makes contact with the SGC." Samantha Carter and Vala Mal Doran an hour ago to journey to the Stargate for their scheduled check-in with General Landry. Since Mitchell had been told to wait for Adano's arrival this morning before proceeding into the village, he and Teal'c had remained behind. This "splitting up" that occurred frequently on SG-1 missions did not always end well, and Teal'c was torn between his desire to assist Colonel Mitchell in completing their mission objectives and his compulsion to keep his teammates together under his watchful eye. Of course, there was an equal amount of risk with each scenario on an alien planet among an alien culture.

Turning momentarily from his survey of the village, Teal'c saw Mitchell pull an object from among the discarded remains of this home, once, no doubt, a warm, pleasant dwelling of a Hostan family. The furnishings and personal items had long ago been looted by others, leaving only broken remembrances of better times. The embers of their fire, carefully laid by Adano's son, Deleus, the night before, glowed at the base of a crumbling chimney in one corner but gave off little heat. Perhaps this family had been decimated by disease or taken in a raid by another settlement, but, thus far, no explanation for the abandoned homes had been offered by the remaining villagers. When asked, they had merely stated, 'It is the will of the Etavia.'

Sadness and decay permeated this culture, and mirrored similar feelings in Teal'c's own spirit. "It is not only this village that concerns me, Colonel Mitchell," Teal'c admitted.

"No?" Mitchell stood and brushed at the packed dirt that coated the object he'd found. He knew what was coming, knew that he and the big guy had to have this conversation, but figured it would be better to let Teal'c initiate it himself.

"No." Teal'c took one stride towards the other man. "Were you not concerned with Daniel Jackson's demeanor during our report yesterday afternoon?"

Mitchell shrugged, trying to work the crust from around three prongs that projected from one side of the item. "He seemed a little distracted," he began.

Teal'c's eyes narrowed. "Indeed." He had been relieved to hear Daniel Jackson's voice coming from the MALP speakers when they opened the wormhole, but that feeling did not continue. The archaeologist spoke hesitantly, as if confused or troubled, requesting that information be repeated several times. He had brushed off Teal'c's concern with a cursory statement about reliving bad memories, but the change in the young scientist from just a few hours previously was dramatic. Teal'c allowed the silence to build up between himself and Colonel Mitchell, watching carefully as Mitchell remained focused on the relic of the dead family. The colonel's attitude was extremely puzzling. He had fought side-by-side with this team, and prided himself on understanding the extensive history of each member. He had been a part of their struggles and sacrifices, and yet he easily dismissed the IOA's intentions towards Daniel Jackson.

The Jaffa could remain silent no longer. "Have you yourself not been forced to feel the weight of memories too painful to bear, Colonel Mitchell? Do you not understand the uses this Tok'ra device has been put to by our enemies and even our allies in the past? Or do you simply wish to believe that finding some remnant of power within Daniel Jackson's mind can somehow justify the torture to which he is surely being subjected?" Teal'c powerful voice narrowed to a whisper as he closed on Mitchell's location, forcing the colonel to meet the Jaffa's compelling gaze.

"Hey!" Mitchell's own fierce stare matched Teal'c's and forced the Jaffa to a halt. "You think this is my fault, I get it," the colonel's words echoed the force and passion of his teammate. "But if you think I wanted this to happen, that I didn't do everything I could to try to stop this, you are dead wrong." Mitchell confronted Teal'c, finally releasing the frustration and anger that had been festering, waiting to blow, since he'd first heard about the IOA's newest brainstorm. "Tell me- tell me, Teal'c! How do I fix this? How do I stop this?" Inches shorter than the formidable Jaffa, Mitchell's intensity filled the empty room. "Give me a plan, a strategy, anything!" His fists clenched in impotent fury.

The two men stood, glaring, anger slowly receding beneath their barely controlled exteriors. "Dammit," Mitchell realized his left hand was wrapped tightly around the item he'd found amid the debris, and a trickle of blood was running down along the outside edge of his fist to drip onto the floor. He opened his fingers and stared at the rusted metal – one prong of the three had remained unbroken, and had pierced the flesh at the base of his ring finger with its sharp point. "Remind me to get a tetanus booster when we get back to the SGC." He shook his hand, scattering red drops, and headed towards his backpack for antibacterials and a bandage, but Teal'c placed one hand around his arm and stopped him.

"Colonel Mitchell."

"Look, Teal'c, I'm sorry. Maybe if I'd…"

Teal'c released Mitchell's arm and bowed his head. "_I_ am sorry, Colonel Mitchell," he said, finally. "This situation is… most distressing."

"Teal'c," Mitchell smacked the back of his hand on the Jaffa's field vest, "you are still a master of understatement, you know that?" He held the small metal item out for his teammate's examination as he stepped over to where he'd left his pack.

Turning the item over in his large hands, Teal'c noted the remains of a strap that had once been attached to the oval metal disk at each end. He fit the piece easily into the palm of his hand and noted the three prongs that faced up – the center point still sharp enough to draw blood. "What is the purpose of this device?"

"You got me," Mitchell replied, "but it does a helluva job making holes in your skin."

"The language is probably a corruption of Ancient," Daniel's voice came from the radio on the MALP which stood to one side at the foot of the Stargate. "But without a context I can't be sure. What about the ruins?"

"Cam's working on it, trying to get us access," Sam replied. "The head of the ruling council, Adano, has promised to approach the myrstra, whoever they are, today for permission."

"But the real question is," Vala nudged Sam out of the way and centered herself in front of the MALP camera, "what did you think of my photographs? Pretty good for my first time, don't you think?" She smiled widely, posing, waiting for Daniel's response. "You know," she whispered to Sam, "I've often wondered why some of you clever types don't mount some sort of view screen or monitor on these probes so that _we_ can see what _they're_ doing." She pointed to the camera.

Sam made a face and carefully moved Vala so that both women were within the frame of the camera. "Can you tell us anything, Daniel?"

"Ah, I can give you some guesses, Sam, based on the conversations that Vala filmed, which, by the way," he added, "were fine except that I noticed she has quite a few shots of Mitchell's butt for some reason." Vala looked sidelong at Sam and shrugged innocently.

"The 'guesses,' Daniel?" Sam prodded.

"Right, sorry," Sam and Vala exchanged glances at the weary tone of Daniel's voice. "The word 'cogni,' which is clearly used to refer to some set of leaders, or village council, might be from the ancient word 'cogata,' which literally means, 'connected by blood,' or 'related.' There may be some kind of blood relation between these people, or it might be that these people are all the leaders of their 'bloodlines,' their families." Sam could hear papers shuffling as Daniel paused. "I am assuming that the word 'myrstra' is related to the Ancient word 'mystia' which refers to someone who is a 'keeper of secrets.'"

"Like a priest," Vala suggested.

"Right." View screen or not, Sam could tell that Daniel had taken his glasses off and was rubbing one hand across his forehead. "Now the word 'Etavia,' which they seem to use frequently, sometimes speaking with reverence or even fear, might refer to the Ancients themselves, although it would be the first time we've come across a culture that connected something negative with anything related to the Ancients. The similar word, 'Altava' is used in some of the older dialects of Ancient for the word 'ancestors.'"

"So either they're actually worshipping their ancestors at this temple, or…"

"…they're worshipping the Ancients," Vala finished his sentence.

"Ancients that they're afraid of," Sam added thoughtfully. "That sounds familiar."

"You've got to get into that temple," Daniel insisted.

"Roger that," Sam agreed. "Tell General Landry that we'll check in again in 6 hours," she glanced at the chrono on her wrist, "hopefully we'll have access to the temple by then and can send you some more tape."

"Six hours, acknowledged, Colonel Carter," the voice of Master Sergeant Harriman broadcast.

"Hey, Daniel," Vala started, hands on her hips, "what's going on with your new best friend – you know, the guy playing about in your brain?" She wiggled her fingers suggestively.

"Oh, you know, the usual," the irritation in his disembodied voice carried clearly over the radio waves. "Sharing some of my worst memories with a complete stranger – what could be better. And," he quickly added, "before either of you can ask –again – I'm fine," he growled.

"Yes, you sound perfectly normal to me," Vala replied mockingly.

"I'll make sure I'm available at your next check-in," he brushed off Vala's comment abruptly. "Anything else?"

"No. Just…" Sam took one long look into the MALP's camera. "Make sure you take care of yourself."

"You, too," Daniel responded.

Sam broke the connection and the wormhole disengaged. She opened one of the kits strapped to the probe and checked through the contents quickly. From what they had seen yesterday, the Hostans were not likely to have disturbed their gear, but it paid to be cautious. She looked up and noticed that Vala was snapping a fresh set of batteries into the camera while keeping her back to the MALP, glancing up now and then to check out the area surrounding the Stargate. Sam straightened up and made her own quick survey of the silent hills that were visible in the bright sunlight of the early morning. Yesterday's intermittent rain had reduced visibility to practically nothing, but today the entire valley that spread from the Stargate at the southern end, to the village to the north made a spectacular panorama –bright red and orange blossoms had emerged at the tops of the green stalks that grew up around the thin trees that lined the pathway, and the dark color of the rocky cliffs that stood in the distance on each side made a stark contrast.

From the meteorological data that she'd seen, Sam knew that the physical features of the landscape made the area a natural funnel for winds and the kind of thunderstorm they'd experienced last night. Some of the damage she'd seen within the village made sense – Hosta was unusually susceptible to eroding wind, flooding from runoff of the major river to the east, and lightning-caused fires. It was a strange place for a village to spring up, and Sam was positive that it hadn't – it was planted here by someone for some particular purpose. The pathway that linked the village with the Stargate looked rustic, but when she'd attempted to get some scrapings from the material when they checked in last night, the scratches on her utility knife told her otherwise. Someone had gone to a lot of trouble to deceive the casual observer into thinking that the villagers had built this path.

"I know I'm still new around here," Vala began as the two began the long trek back to the village, "but I can't think of any reason the Ancients would have put this village here, on this backwater planet, with a road leading directly to them from the Stargate and then tried to hide their efforts."

"We don't know that they did," Sam rested one forearm across the stock of her P-90 as they walked. "But the UAV didn't find any other signs of civilization before it reached its range limit, and, until we can find some other information, that's the working theory at this point." She smiled ruefully, wishing, not for the first or last time on this mission, that her fellow scientist had been able to make the journey. Bouncing her ideas off of Vala was not nearly as satisfying as a heated discussion with Daniel, analyzing data and wandering down hypothetical rabbit trails.

"These people remind me a little of the people I knew in Ver Isca, but their culture is, I don't know, creepy," Vala panned the camera from left to right to showcase the steep cliffs that bordered the narrow valley. "Most of the people in the village in the Ori galaxy were fairly normal, you know, if you ignore the marathon prostrations and continual references to "hallowed are the Ori" every time someone stubs his toe or finds a lost sock. These people are, what's the word?" she looked to Carter for help.

"Peculiar?" Sam suggested.

"Nope, not that," Vala's forehead crinkled in thought.

"Secretive?" Sam tried again.

"No." She sighed dramatically. "The Ori worshippers I knew were under the direct rule of the priors, very intimidating, very powerful people who kept the villagers strictly in line. But any one of those people, living right in the laps of the Ori themselves, had more life and vitality than all of these villagers put together."

"Maybe we just caught them on a bad day," Sam speculated.

Vala laughed. "So, you think when we go into the village today they'll all be dancing in the streets?"

"It's possible," Sam shrugged.

"Want to bet?"

Adano was true to his word. He and his retinue arrived at SG-1's new home a few minutes after Vala and Sam returned from the Stargate. The clear morning light did bring a change in the village leader; for the first time he seemed genuinely pleased to greet the travelers.

"The myrstra will be happy to guide you through the Tegera this afternoon, Caryph Mitchell," he stood proudly in the center of the rubble-strewn room, his eyes glittering with excitement. He and the other men had traded the padded garments they had worn yesterday for simple white shirts similar to those the other villagers had worn, Adano adding a woven jacket in natural shades brown and tan, tied with a wide leather belt. Any fear of the newcomers had been replaced by a comfortable confidence in his position as the leader of his village. "The myrstra extend welcome to your people, as well," he added, "the temple grounds and forecourt are also to be made available to you," he rocked up on his toes and down again as he made his announcement.

"That's great," Mitchell replied, cocking his head to one side at the man's strange terminology. "Ah, any chance we could take a look around the courtyard now?"

Carter stepped in when she noticed Adano's hesitation. "You see, our friends are expecting us to tell them all about your people when we talk to them again in a few hours. We'd like to tell them about the temple then, if you don't mind."

"Your friends who you talk to through the Astra Pera?"

"Yes," Sam nodded, "we'd also like to offer your people the opportunity to trade. We have food, medicine, tools to help you repair your homes."

Adano began shaking his head amiably before Carter finished. "No. We have no need of your trade. The Etavia provide all that the faithful need."

"All?" Teal'c asked.

"They have promised. So long as we are faithful to our duty," Adano repeated. "Did you not see their power last night?"

"Oh," Vala spoke up, "you mean the storm? The Etavia sent the storm?"

"Of course," Adano seemed amused by the team's confusion. "As a sign that they were pleased with the Tegera. The cold lightning fell, but we were spared."

"We have seen Ascended beings use lightning to vanquish their enemies before," Teal'c said, seeing the same memories reflected in Carter's eyes. "But they have never required the worship of any lower beings."

"No, Daniel says that's the main thing that makes them different from the Ori," Vala agreed. "Well, that and not burning people alive," she added.

"The Etavia require nothing from us except our duty," Adano remarked. "And that is clear."

Teal'c turned slowly back to their perplexed host, "Perhaps you could tell us about this 'duty.'"

"Please," Adano held up his hands to ward off further questions. "These are not matters for the cogni; they are matters for the myrstra. We are faithful to our duty, as are you also, are you not?"

"Sure," Mitchell agreed, "you bet."

Adano tucked both hands into his belt and smiled, "Then be welcome. The temple awaits." He led the small group out into the morning light.

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Daniel closed his eyes for a moment after the wormhole disengaged, his glasses unheeded on the computer keyboard in front of him. It didn't help. "Dr. Jackson?"

"Ah, sorry, Sergeant," Daniel grabbed for the frames and lurched out of the chair next to the technician.

"Dr. Jackson," Walter's worried frown came into focus as Daniel slid his glasses onto his face. "Sir, I was just going to say that I'll make sure that Dr. Lam is informed of SG-1's check-in schedule so that you are notified of any incoming communication." The technician swiveled his chair so that he faced the archaeologist.

Daniel stopped and fumbled with the notebook and pen he'd hastily picked up. "Thank you, Sergeant, I appreciate it." He was already on his way down the metal stairs and out the door before Harriman could murmur a response. Through the underground corridors and down to the elevator, Daniel kept his head down, unwilling to meet the concerned gazes of any of the regular SGC personnel. After ten years on the job Daniel had managed to develop a thick skin – thanks primarily to Jack – but he'd never get used to those "concerned looks" that seemed to be aimed at him more than any other member of SG-1. Luckily, this early in the morning most of the SG teams were either busy off-world, or had not yet reported for duty. He'd even managed to avoid General Landry so far, and was hoping the general's emergency briefing with newly returned SG-6 would continue at least until he was safely ensconced in the isolation room with Forsner, where his personal demons were locked behind sturdy metal doors, not etched on his face where everyone could read them. Daniel had seen the way Harriman had looked at him when he'd arrived in the control room – the 'gate tech been a silent witness to most of SG-1's worst nightmares, at least from this side of the wormhole, and had an unequalled ability to read people.

Sliding his keycard into the slot in the elevator, Daniel leaned back against the cool metal wall as the doors closed out curious eyes. He needed to be out there with SG-1, examining the ruins of the temple, analyzing the little clues that might give him the insight they needed to understand the villagers' culture, not stuck here inside visions of his past. As interesting as some of Forsner's results seemed to be, Daniel wasn't relishing another day of lying on an examination table strapped to machines that probed his mind. The neurologist had showed up in his lab last night full of excitement over a partial map of Daniel's brain activity. A momentary spike in his synaptic levels just before the base alarm interrupted the session had Forsner quivering with excitement. Daniel couldn't help feeling some sympathy; there had been many times he had been the only one to recognize a possible theoretical breakthrough, in fact, it was sort of the story of his life. If Forsner's scientific discoveries weren't being made at his own expense, Daniel was sure he'd be just as intent on the possible results. Putting everything into perspective wasn't quite as simple this time.

He shut the door to his on-base quarters behind him, and dropped his notebook onto the foot of his bed. Switching on the lamp, Daniel sat down and took a long look at his rumpled sheets. He'd stayed up working much longer than Dr. Lam had advised, but, even though he had no more flashes of unwanted memories, he had been wary of closing his eyes even then. The combination of fleeting images that had scattered when he opened his eyes and the feel of his sweat-soaked sheets had proven him right. He couldn't remember anything specific, and he didn't want to. There had been enough darkness in his life to provide material for several horror movies, and the images that lingered when he struggled awake – the life leaving Shar'e's eyes, Sarah weeping in his arms, the surprised look frozen on Janet Frasier's face in death - he mentally shook himself and rose to his feet. Dwelling on those memories wouldn't help anyone.

He paced in a familiar arc around the foot of his bed, trying to resist the urge to touch the metal disk stuck into the side of his head. He could blame the persistent headache on Forsner's little device, but his own tension was a more plausible excuse. Daniel couldn't understand why his friends never suspected his motives for focusing so single-mindedly on his work – that it was the only way he could keep memories like those, and older, far deeper memories buried. He laughed silently to himself. His stubborn insistence on pursuing his academic goals as early in life as he did had been as much a method to escape his former life and essentially erase everything that had gone before as it was a conscious career choice – his habits of denial were ingrained long before he joined Catherine Langford. In fact, it was Janet Frasier who first suggested that his name and the word "denial" were actually anagrams. It wouldn't surprise him if Forsner discovered that any strange mind powers that Daniel had were developed by continual use of his mental suppression muscles, if there were such things. Daniel's would rival Teal'c's biceps any day.

Forsner collapsed the view screen device, and checked to make sure the readings on the lab equipment were ready to reflect the false settings he'd programmed yesterday. He glanced up at the observation room window and then down at the time code on his equipment – he knew his own curiosity might be the biggest hindrance to his strategy, but he couldn't help checking back every few hours to see if the connection between the memory device and the view screen was holding up. The adjustments that he had made to the Tok'ra implant not only amplified the electrical current, but allowed remote viewing of the subject's memories without the tie-in of the optical cable. Forsner had started sending signals to the sleep center in Jackson's brain shortly after their meeting in the archaeologist's lab last evening, but the stubborn man had not succumbed to sleep until a much later hour than he'd anticipated, driving the neurologist to turn the device to a dangerously high level. The prolonged waiting period – and the increased possibility of brain damage - had been worth it: when Jackson's memories began to unfold across the view screen any warm thoughts of Forsner's own bed in the SGC VIP room had simply vanished.

It was the nature of dreams to contain disjointed images – not necessarily true memories, but memories colored by emotions like love, regret, and fear. Even with the assistance of the Tok'ra memory device, Dr. Jackson's dream thoughts had been difficult to piece together, consisting of faces and scenes without context, jolting from periods in his childhood to those from just last week. Without a road map of the young man's life that was considerably more detailed than the rough sketches he'd gleaned from tedious military reports, Forsner would not be able to piece together any kind of coherent chronology. Just as well, the neurologist shrugged as he made a slight adjustment on his hand-held monitor, as fascinating as Jackson's past was, exploring each of his memories was not the ultimate purpose of this investigation. It was merely a means to the end to which he had committed the past two years of his life. From the readings he'd taken yesterday, and the inroads he'd made into Daniel Jackson's unconscious mind last night, Forsner knew that the end was in sight. After a few more hours of manipulation, the formerly Ascended being would be willing to go to any lengths to assist with the investigation, quite willingly, and without the interference of the mediocre military scientists who attempted to stand in his way. He slipped the hand-held computer into his inside jacket pocket patting it protectively. It was time for his meeting with Dr. Lam, where she would be forced to admit – albeit reluctantly –that there were no medical reasons to object to Forsner's further experimentation on Dr. Daniel Jackson. At least, none that she knew of.

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Just the build-up. Consider this my 'briefing room' scene.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

A crumbling brick archway lined the path on the east as the team made their way north from the plaza. Adano's friends had bailed out at the village center, apologizing that they had much work to make up at their own farms and businesses since they spent yesterday with the newcomers. Today shop doors were open, and villagers walked outside freely, chatting and exchanging news, smiling or waving at the small group making its way down the pathway. The children who had been fascinated with Teal'c's gold tattoo the day before had lost all sense of fear and tugged at him mercilessly until he bent down so that they could touch the strange emblem with one shy finger. Even the adult voices who called them away, giggling and scampering off in all directions, held more indulgence than caution, and were accompanied by the head shakes and raised shoulders that seemed to be the universal language of all parents everywhere. Sam caught Vala's gaze and raised her eyebrows in a "See, what did I tell you?" expression. It wasn't quite dancing in the streets, but the atmosphere in Hosta was much more genial this morning.

Eneas, the grey-haired man who had answered the summons of the village bell yesterday stood outside his open door, one hand tucked into his wide leather belt in a mannerism reminiscent of Adano's, and watched the procession pass with an air of quiet detachment. Catching Mitchell's eye he nodded, almost imperceptibly, but when Adano turned to follow Mitchell's gaze, the old man hurriedly busied himself next to a woman who must be his wife, who was selling beautifully colored fabric out of a cart nearby. The closely woven fabric filled the wooden cart with bold reds and pure whites, as well as more demure shades of brown and grey. By the number of women smoothing rough hands over the silky material Mitchell guessed that business was pretty good. The expression on Adano's face, however, told a different story.

"Something wrong?" Mitchell risked.

The older man attempted to even out the worried furrows on his forehead, but it was a losing battle. "Nothing that concerns you, Caryph," he finally choked out after a few moments of chewing over his words. "I see that your woman is most interested in our goods," his eyes lit up sharply and Mitchell turned to see Vala fingering some long beaded trinkets that hung from a rickety looking cart and were hovered over by an even more rickety looking man who was practically wetting himself at her attention. Vala was turning on all the charm, flipping her long black hair over her shoulders and gazing up at the wizened, pock-marked face with those large dark eyes of hers – Mitchell felt a little bit sorry for the guy and thought about calling her away, but figured anything she was able to wheedle out of her new boyfriend would be better than what little intel Adano had been willing to share. He let his gaze slide back over towards the broad shoulders of Eneas, wondering what it was about the old man that made their tour guide so uncomfortable.

After a twenty-minute walk, two strands of native beads, and a dark brown head scarf for which Vala had traded her last two energy bars, the team neared the ruined temple area. On the west another wall of arches joined those on the east, some still perfectly formed, reaching up to meet overhead in an elaborate ceiling for the walkway. An open iron gate at the far end made it clear that the pathway was no accident – it led to one place and one place only – the Hosta temple. Mitchell walked easily beside their host, trying hard not to let on just how claustrophobic the suddenly enclosed space was making him. Talk about a perfect place for an ambush. He allowed his hand to drop casually from the stock of his rifle to his waist, just inches from the trigger.

Cam's movement wasn't lost on any of his teammates. Carter adjusted her weapon, holding it in both hands, and Vala placed her trophies into handy pockets on her tac vest, dropping back a few paces and walking as close to the eastern wall as possible. Teal'c, bringing up the rear, had never stopped scanning their surroundings. As Adano reached the open gateway he smiled and brought one arm across his chest in salute.

"Here I will leave you, Caryph. The myrstra will conduct you and your friends within. When you are finished with the Tegera, your friends can conduct you back to the village where we will have prepared replenishment." He stood at the doorway expectantly.

"Uh-huh," Mitchell's gaze darted past the man as he stationed himself alongside the open archway. "So, you're not coming with us then?"

Adano lowered his hand and placed it on Mitchell's arm as if in comfort. "Do not fear," his words were just for Mitchell's ears and barely carried that far. "The Etavia require much from the cogni. But not more than we can bear." He gestured towards the open courtyard that lay beyond the gateway and turned to walk swiftly down the path that led back to the village.

Carter moved up to flank the opening as the elder hurried away. "What was that about?"

Mitchell shrugged, glanced back to see that Teal'c and Vala were ready to cover them and nodded towards the courtyard. He and Carter moved through the doorway and stepped to each side to allow Teal'c and Vala a clear line of sight. The two followed them in a moment later. What they saw was…beautiful.

The grey stone walls stretched out to enclose a large garden. The intricate plots of brightly colored plants and flowers contrasted sharply with what SG-1 had seen of the Hostan civilization so far. The masonry that enclosed the area was not completely intact, but it was much less damaged than what they had seen in the village, and the walls seemed to turn off into small niches every dozen or so feet. Sam couldn't quite make out how deep these alcoves were, nor what was hidden in the small enclosures – they should definitely be investigated. Standing in the center of the open space stood a small building; round, with wooden posts and stone panels set into its curved sides. It reminded Sam of the spring houses she'd seen in the small town of Manitou Springs at the base of Pike's Peak. The panels of stone were made out of the same material as the pathway and stood fully intact within the wooden framework of building, every inch covered with Ancient writing.

The remains of the temple itself sat at the north end of the courtyard, and resembled pictures that Daniel had shown her of medieval churches, consisting of a squat round tower, no more than two stories in height with a pointed roof, and a series of small archways all along the outside circumference. These arches looked like they might once have contained windows, but were now filled in with the same grey, crumbling stone that made up the surrounding walls. Flanking the structure on both sides were a series of columns standing from four feet to eight feet in height, with wide, flat stones on the top as if they'd once been used as display stands. These pedestals also held inscriptions, but, from this distance, she couldn't tell if it was more Ancient writing, or some kind of image that had been etched onto the sides.

Sam felt her muscles relax slightly as the only threats that materialized were a few white robed figures scattered throughout the open area in front of them. Two were kneeling along the circuitous pathways tending the flower beds, one was sweeping fallen leaves into a large pile of brown and gold, and another walked slowly towards the visitors, hands held out in a general sign peace and friendship.

"Be welcome," the young woman smiled at each of them in turn. Her dark hair was cut short, close to her head, and her bright green eyes were alive with enthusiasm. The white robe fell in a deep cowl around her neck, and was belted at the waist by a thick strand of rope of the same color. "I am sorry that we could not welcome you yesterday, but it has been so long since we had visitors, the myrstra had to look into the archives to know just what to do."

"Hey, no problem," Mitchell took a step forward, lowering his weapon.

"You are the Caryph of whom Adano has spoken?"

"Well, I'm in command of SG-1, ah, this team," Mitchell explained, "but back home there are lots of people who have more authority than I do." He was still hoping that 'caryph' wasn't the local version of 'king' or – worse yet – 'god.'

"Of course," the woman smiled. "We are all under authority of some type." She placed on hand on her chest. "I am Oralia. It is my honor to conduct your passage. At the appointed time a member of the sacorla will lead you," she nodded at Mitchell, "into the temple itself for the Tegera."

"The 'sacorla?' I thought we were to be escorted by someone from the myrstra," Teal'c asked, one eye brow raised.

"The myrstra," Oralia pointed to herself, "those who wear the white, are merely the keepers of the great story – those who keep watch. It is the sacorla, those of the red, who defend the mysteries." She turned left and began walking down a section of the pathway that navigated the entire interior of the stone wall, gesturing to the group to accompany her. Speaking over her shoulder, she continued, "If I prove myself obedient, perhaps I will take my place among those within the temple some day."

Vala had fumbled the video camera out of her pocket and was scanning the entire courtyard. "So we're not going to get to see the inside of the temple?"

Oralia's smile was fleeting. "I am sorry, but only the cogni ever enter the temple proper. The mysteries are not for prying eyes or simple curiosity," she elaborated.

Behind her back, Teal'c and Carter's eyes met, the Jaffa's scowl expressing his displeasure at this news.

Unaware of their concern, Oralia paused as they approached one of the alcoves in the outer wall. "Within these walls you will find the story of the great purpose of our land. How the Etavia built our village and set our people here in order to accomplish our duty. I will be your guide on this journey."

As the young woman stepped into the opening, Mitchell leaned close to Carter's blonde head. "Yeah, next stop, the Twilight Zone," he muttered.

Stopping next to the back wall of the alcove, Oralia turned to face the four travelers and her demeanor and voice took on an attitude of recitation, as if she was recounting something she had committed to memory and had repeated again and again. Vala stepped forward so that she could see the small niche – it was only about six feet across and the same measure deep – just big enough to allow one or two people to stand abreast to study the image that had been painted onto the back wall. "The Etavia purposed their great plan among the heavens, choosing the best representatives of all of the families of the stars to carry out their intentions," the myrstra began. Through the camera's lens Vala could see that what was left of the painting showed a medieval village under a glowering sky, and a bright light stabbing from the sky to the earth in the center of an open area. "The cold lightning, bringer of death, powerful among the mysteries, hidden for centuries, was released by the wild one." After a momentary pause Oralia began walking again, leading the team towards another alcove in the outer wall of the courtyard.

"Why am I reminded of every school field trip to a museum that I ever had?" Sam whispered to Mitchell as they turned to walk demurely behind their docent.

Vala clearly had never heard Mrs. Peterson's lecture about proper museum behavior and hurried up behind Oralia to pepper her with questions. "The wild one?" Vala asked. "Was this a person? One of the Ancients…ah…Etavia?"

The young woman merely smiled and continued her recital. "The wild one did not listen to the counsel of the others," she began.

"The others," Vala interrupted. "That sounds familiar." Mitchell reached up to tug on the back of her BDU jacket, and then smiled an apology to their guide.

"The wild one did not listen to the counsel of the others," Oralia was not to be distracted from her story, "and the cold lightning was released."

"Relea…" One fierce stare and a gesture from Mitchell's P-90 closed Vala's mouth with a snap. With a heavy sigh she turned away and concentrated on filming the painting in the second alcove, trying to get enough detail to send a coherent image back to the SGC for analysis. This one had the same kind of bright white stroke, depicting the lightning she presumed, but this time it was in the hand of a figure – a human figure. Unfortunately, the details had been eroded by years of wind and rain so only the basic shape was recognizable.

"The cold lightning was rightfully caged by the Etavia, but the wild one did not care. With no regard to the people he loosed it and the destruction was upon us all."

As Oralia led them further along the path, Teal'c's deep voice sounded from the rear. "You are recording her words as well as these images, are you not Vala Mal Doran?"

"And our brilliant commentary as well, muscles," she answered, mouth close to the camera's microphone.

"The wild one fled from the wrath of the Etavia, knowing he had done wrong but unmindful of the dangers he would release upon the universe." The image in this alcove was even more damaged, the colors faded almost to the color of the stones themselves. Only a few square inches of the original painting remained, and what it had originally depicted was anyone's guess.

"I'm really sorry to interrupt," Sam tried to break off Oralia's tale for just a moment, "but does the myrstra have any records of the images from these chambers? Did any of your own artisans make copies?" Although this was not exactly Sam Carter's field, she had learned enough from ten years of working with Daniel Jackson to ask some of the questions that he would ask.

The young myrstra did not miss a step. "The archives," she nodded towards the Ancient structure set into the middle of the garden area, "contain all that remains. When you have heard the story of Hosta, you may avail yourselves of that which is within. Perhaps," she smiled in Mitchell's direction, "while your Caryph attends the Tegera." She moved on down the pathway before anyone could object further.

Folding her hands into the sleeves of her white robe, Oralia continued to intone the story. "After times and times, the Etavia learned of the wild one and he despaired and let loose the cold lightning and hurried away." The team was walking along the west wall now, and these small chambers had seen less weather and less erosion than the others. The first alcove revealed an image that was almost completely intact, colored in rich, vibrant jewel tones of red, green and yellow, illustrating a scene where men in armor lay bleeding on the forest floor, a shaft of lightning caught up in one warrior's hand. "In his haste to flee their punishment, the wild one left only Death at his back."

Even though the story was disjointed, containing as many gaps and missing pieces as the artwork, the team couldn't help becoming caught up in Oralia's beautifully rendered tale. Although she'd probably repeated it hundreds of times, her passion and reverence for her words carried with it a sense that this was the most important story ever told. Vala tried to capture both the remnants of the images from each of the alcoves along the wall as well as the young woman herself as they progressed around the courtyard.

"Finally, the hiding of the lightning was imagined by the Etavia, and She was sent. Sent to do their will and bury the forces of destruction that the wild one had released." The last image showed a romanticized likeness of a woman standing amidst a violent storm, a cloud of dark hair billowing behind her. In one hand she held a lightning bolt, while the other reached out to a group of smaller figures, a long burst of deep red connecting them. "She gathered the cogni, and caged the lightning on our world, a world devoted to aid her for all time." Oralia brought one hand across her chest in the familiar salute and faced the painting. "May we remain faithful," she pledged, tears of devotion in her eyes.

Signaling the tale's completion, Oralia turned to SG-1, blinking to clear her vision, and smiled wistfully. Realizing that she was waiting for some type of response, Sam cleared her throat and drew the woman's green eyes to her face. "Wow, uh, thank you," she said, struggling to find words that would satisfy the devout myrstra.

"You are wholly welcome," Oralia replied, gesturing the group to another path that led towards the Ancient structure in the middle of the garden area. "The story grows more wondrous with every telling, does it not?"

"Uh, yeah," Mitchell answered slowly, "every time." His mind was crowded with questions, but the attitude of their guide didn't seem to welcome them. Glancing around he knew that the rest of the team felt the same way; Carter had that squint-eyed scientist look on her face, head cocked as if the little synapses firing in that big brain of hers had tilted it to one side, Vala fiddled a new memory card into the camera, absently caching the full one for travel back through the wormhole for Jackson's study, and Teal'c looked, well, slightly less impassive than usual. The fairy tale Oralia spouted could be anything – a mythical story based on some kind of interaction with the Ancients in these villagers' _ancient_ history, a story from the Book of Origin placing a powerful dark-haired female in some kind of savior role, or just a nightmare caused by too much fermented beverage of choice that had taken hold and become a cult religion. They needed more information.

In an open area in front of the entrance to the wood and stone structure, under the shade of a small tree with shiny, dark red leaves, a few wooden benches had been positioned in a circle centered on a low table. A young boy, not much older than twelve by the look of him, hurried down the steps of the building, almost tripping on the hem of a robe identical to Oralia's, to place a tray full of clay cups and bowls on the table. He raised his newly shaved head every so often to look at the strangers, clumsily distributing the cups and bowls around the table as Oralia looked on indulgently.

"This is Lian. He has come to the myrstra only recently." She reached over and rubbed the boy's head with one hand, watching a flush creep up his cheeks. "Soon he will begin learning the story of our people, but, for now, his tasks are simple ones, such as," she tipped his chin up to draw his straying attention to her face, "the pitchers?" Lian's eyes widened and he hurried back up the stone steps and into the small building.

"Please, sit," Oralia gestured to the benches. "I find myself very thirsty after a circuit of the great story. Lian will bring us some refreshments…eventually," she smiled.

"Oralia," Vala began, sitting gingerly across the circle from the woman and carefully placing Daniel's camera on her knee, angled to catch every expression and nuance. "Is it okay if we ask you some questions about the, um, great story?"

"There is no more to say than I have already said," Oralia hitched her shoulders in a small gesture of puzzlement, "but I can repeat any part of the story that you do not understand."

"Thank you," Vala smiled grimly at the idea, imagining another couple of hours listening to the same words over and over again and wondered how she could have ever considered Daniel's lectures boring. These people certainly resembled the Ori's followers in the 'mindless repeating of rambling stories' area. "But we were just wondering, I mean, the woman in the last painting – does she have a name?"

"That is too great a mystery for the people of Hosta." The phrase came a little too quickly to the woman's tongue to be anything but a rote response.

"The reason we ask," Mitchell inserted smoothly, taking the bench closest to their host, "is that we think we might have met her, or someone like her, before."

"You could not," Oralia dismissed this suggestion at once, and the colonel saw a slight frown worry her forehead for the first time. "She has claimed the Hosta from among the stars, and none other."

"Perhaps it is another of the Etavia that we have met," Teal'c's rumbling words filled the awkward silence, and Oralia took it for the apology that it was, inclining her head to the large man standing beside the short stone stairway and gazing through the open door beyond. "We know of one called Oma Desala who has great power at her command."

The myrstra was not the only one who eyed Teal'c with confusion. "Oma Desala? What made you think of her?" Colonel Carter asked.

"This story is very old," Teal'c explained, eyeing the Ancient writing covering the structure in long regular columns, "and has come down to these people from their ancestors. The woman depicted could not be Adria as she is," he couldn't help a swift glance at Vala's pale face, "considerably younger."

"These names are unknown to me," Oralia shook her head, trying to regain her control of the situation. "We have only the words that have been preserved from the time of our passage to this new home, there are no others."

Carter gestured towards the Ancient writing. "What about those words?"

"Clearly they are the story of the Etavia's search for the wild one through the vastness of the universe," Oralia barely glanced at the columns of symbols covering the small building. "They were placed here by Her at the time of the first Tegera, in the language of the Etavia."

"But you can read them, right?" Carter persisted.

The young woman's laugh sent a small creature scuttling from a clump of greenery nearby. "Of course not, I am not Etavia," she smiled widely at the thought. "They are not meant for our eyes, but for the eyes of heaven." She stood and brushed the dirt from the back of her robe, still giggling to herself. "I had better check on Lian before, in his haste to study our new friends, he spills our wine and ruins his new robes." She excused herself with a bow and swept up the steps and out of sight.

Vala jumped up off the bench and focused the camera on the round building, panning slowly up and down to capture every character.

"I don't know about you guys," Mitchell crossed his arms and stretched his legs out under the small table in front of him, "but these people are not screaming 'Ori followers' to me."

"Indeed," Teal'c agreed. "They do not seem to understand their own religious beliefs or origins. They are neither guided by a prior, nor are in contact with any Ascended beings."

"If they were," Sam added, "they'd be better informed."

"But this writing, the lightning – the Ancients must have messing about with this culture somehow," Vala commented as she made a slow circuit around the structure.

"Perhaps." Teal'c's eyes were on the temple building in the distance.

"You still think they're hiding something, Teal'c?" Mitchell squinted up at his teammate.

"I don't know if hiding is the right word, but I see what you mean." Carter took off her cap and ran one hand through her short blonde hair. "They might be talking to us but we don't seem to be getting anywhere. Daniel should really be here," she stuffed her cap into one of her vest pockets.

"Yeah, well he's not," Mitchell snapped, drawing her blue eyes to his face. "Surely we can handle one mission without our resident Ancient expert, Sam, the man is not irreplaceable." He knew it was a mistake as soon as the words left his mouth. "Okay, that didn't come out right," he muttered, hunching his shoulders against three cold stares that he definitely deserved. "What I mean is, these people aren't that complicated and the four of us are pretty bright. We should be able to figure this out."

The silence lengthened in the peaceful courtyard, the only sound the scraping of Vala's boots across the pavement as she continued to film.

"Plan B?" Sam relented and quirked a bitter smile in Mitchell's direction.

"Plan B it is," the Air Force colonel sighed in relief. "When Stanley Kubrick is done over there, Teal'c hightails it back to the 'gate to give all of our intel to Dr. Jackson, while I," he stood and nodded at the Hostan temple in the distance, "find out what's behind door number two."

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_Oma had warned him there'd be days like this. His sense of time and distance had changed – was changing – and even though he seemed bound to this place and these people, his awareness flickered here and there, sometimes so close he could almost touch them, and sometimes so distant that he could hardly see their faces._

"_You must sever your ties to your past life in order to truly begin your new journey," she'd said, or thought, the meaning clearly communicated between the two even without the aid of vocal chords or ears._

_Sometimes Daniel caught a glimpse, as if out of the corner of his eye, of the Others around him – there, but not there, watching him, weighing his reactions. Then something would draw his attention back to the physical world, the bonds still so strong that each drop of grief or pain was like a loud cry in the darkness, reaching for him, demanding his response._

_Sam stood in his lab, one of his notebooks held to her face and wet with her tears…General Hammond – strong leader, stiff military man, sat down at his desk and allowed himself a moment of utter sorrow behind a closed door where no one could see…Teal'c's kel-no-reem brought his soul so close to Daniel's that he longed to share some comfort with the sensitive Jaffa, but the remembrances of so many other losses over the vast span of years clouded Teal'c's awareness…and Jack…Jack's grim struggle for control led him back towards that dark, shadowed place where grief and guilt lay waiting, eager to draw him back._

One eye on the monitors and the other on his hand-held computer, Forsner's brows drew together in annoyance. From the point of view of the images on the view screen, Dr. Jackson was definitely accessing memories of the time after his Ascension – the memories that the neurologist had been sure would trigger synaptic firing in the targeted portion of the man's brain. The readings he'd gathered yesterday had been plain enough, and he'd explained as much to Jackson and Lam when the three returned to the isolation room just a few minutes ago.

"…you can see the stimulated portion of the brain here and here," Forsner had pointed out, jabbing at two sections of Daniel's brain scan he'd brought up on the isolation room monitor. "These are two of the areas that we first began to investigate when we obtained the information from Khalek's scans. Do you see the momentary synaptic activity appear?" He had clicked a button on the computer keyboard and advanced the image frame by frame. Pinpricks of red light danced across the otherwise inactive areas briefly. Clicking again, Forsner froze the image and displayed the time stamp in the lower right hand corner of the screen. "By linking the recordings I took from the Tok'ra view screen device to the time stamp on the monitor, I can determine exactly which memories induced the most significant stimulation."

The playful grins on the two SGC scientists' faces at his awkward choice of words were immediately suppressed by the images scrolling across the Tok'ra screen – images of Daniel's death.

Dr. Forsner had turned back to his patient. "This was, unfortunately, the moment before your base alarm sounded and we were forced to abandon testing for the day." He stared pointedly at the tall, lanky figure of Sgt. Siler who was up on a ladder inside the isolation room door, cutting power to the alarm circuit. "At least that type of interruption will not happen again."

"But you're convinced that concentrating on this point – the point of Ascension – will result in more of these synaptic flare-ups?" Carolyn had frowned at the screen, apparently fascinated with the horrific images shown there in spite of herself, Forsner recalled. She may have had access to Dr. Janet Frasier's medical files on the SGC personnel, including a vivid description of Dr. Jackson's slow and painful death, but Forsner was sure she hadn't fully visualized the gruesome scene. He was sure she wondered how the archaeologist could relive these memories with such a small physiological reaction. As long as she didn't wonder too hard…

"The point of Ascension and beyond," Forsner had not had to fake his enthusiasm. "I believe we are on the brink of some truly intriguing developments. If the synaptic activity is linked to Dr. Jackson's Ascended memories, and we can continue to map out the affected brain areas…"

"…we might actually find the point of origin of the priors' special abilities," Lam actually completed the doctor's thought. She seemed to catch herself and glanced over at the man lying on the bed. "I know this isn't easy, Dr. Jackson," she'd put one hand on his arm in an overtly emotional gesture of compassion that did not belong in any scientific setting, "but I've checked and rechecked every physical reading and can find no medical reason for stopping. Unless you…"

"No, no," Jackson shook his head and smiled trustingly at the slight woman. "I'm on board. Actually," he lowered his head for a moment before looking straight at the visiting scientist, "I think I owe you an apology for my earlier resistance."

Forsner's couldn't help but grin at the man's words. He had barely managed to resist rubbing his hands together in true mad-scientist form as Dr. Lam took one more glance at the deceptive monitoring equipment before sweeping out of the room towing the lanky sergeant and his ladder in her wake.

He'd been positive that Jackson's Ascended memories were his ticket into new areas of the brain – the man was in every other way utterly unremarkable. Yes, his IQ was significantly higher than many others' and his academic accomplishments, at least in the initial phases of his life, were extensive, but the only difference between Daniel Jackson and, well, himself for that matter, was the fortunate interference of an Ascended being named Oma Desala. Yet, staring at the entirely normal scan of Jackson's brain, Forsner was faced with his first real moment of self-doubt. And it made him angry.

Turning up the dial on the Tok'ra implant, he ignored the swift gasp from his patient and made a quick adjustment to the diagnostic equipment. "Dr. Jackson?"

"Yeah," Daniel breathed, blinking rapidly in an attempt to pry his focus from the view screen and onto Forsner's determined face.

"Try to move forward, away from these familiar locations. You didn't spend all of your time as an Ascended being lurking around the SGC, did you?" Forsner tried to keep the irritation out of his voice.

"Uh, no…no," he was having trouble concentrating long enough to put his thoughts into words. Scenes, faces, distant galaxies, ancient temples burst across the screen, and across his inner eye, in flashes of brilliant light. His breathing became faster, more shallow, and Forsner noticed his heart rate was accelerating.

"Don't try to talk, Dr. Jackson," Forsner insisted, "just concentrate on the memories. Something that was especially compelling, or beautiful, or horrendous."

The picture jolted to clarity with an almost audible snap and Daniel stopped breathing. Forsner looked hurriedly at the medical doctor seated above him behind the glass partition, but Dr. Lam's back was turned to the glass, her concentration focused on the base telephone held up against her ear. The neurologist noticed that a red light was blinking on and off on the back wall of the observation station. A sigh of relief escaped from his lips as he turned back to Jackson and quickly reduced the output on the memory device.

Jackson drew a long, shuddering breath, his eyelids dropping over bright blue irises as if to block out the scene that was unfolding: the pale and punished face of Jack O'Neill, the bloody rents in his uniform and the deadness in his eyes testimonies to the endless days of torture and cruelty in the bowels of Ba'al's fortress. Closing his eyes didn't help - the Tok'ra implant kept the suffering of his closest friend right there before him, live and in Technicolor.

"_You have to end this."_

"_I won't do it."_

"_I'd do it for you."_

"_You're a better man than that."_

"_That's where you're wrong!" Jack's voice cracked, his throat closed with agony, his eyes, usually so bright and so dark, now empty._

"_I don't want to see this cell again, Daniel."_

_He shook with the knowledge of his own powerlessness. The Others were close as they always were when Daniel visited his friends, his family. They didn't trust him. They were right not to. He slid away from their awareness, controlled, serene, damping the inner voices that screamed at him to do something, do anything. He floated at the edge of the great path until a familiar consciousness brushed against him. Teal'c._

"Wait," Forsner's loud voice intruded on Daniel's memory and he struggled to open his eyes.

"What?" Daniel felt a weariness in his limbs, as if he'd just been put through an Air Force physical training assessment every day for a month. His muscles twitched and a series of tremors ran down his spine.

"Go back," the scientist stood close to Daniel, hovering over him, and was intent on his hand-held computer; scrolling back to see if that momentary burst of electrical energy was something that he'd imagined seeing.

"Back…" Daniel shook his head from side to side, trying to throw off the despair that accompanied the images. He couldn't go back to that time – he wouldn't.

"Back up," Forsner repeated insistently. "There was an increase in activity for a moment. Just as O'Neill was asking you to kill him."

Daniel didn't know how the man could repeat those words so easily. He simply stared at the man's face until Forsner looked up and met his gaze.

"What were you doing? Can't you remember?" When Daniel just continued to shake his head, Forsner moved the Tok'ra stylus up towards the metal disk on the side of his head. The pain was immediate.

"Were you using an Ascended power? Were you healing him?"

"No."

"Using telekinesis?"

Daniel groaned; the darkness that was narrowing his vision was a welcome change from watching Jack's continuing torment. "Nothing," he choked. That was just it – Jack was dying and he wasn't doing anything. He couldn't tell if the pain that arched his back was there now – happening in the present – or if it was just a memory of the absolute helplessness he'd felt in that cell so many years ago.

The spasm ended, and Forsner reluctantly dialed down the gain on the modified Tok'ra implant. Lam was finishing with her phone call and would begin to concentrate those piercing brown eyes on her patient any moment now. He'd come too far to risk being stopped here, just when he knew – he _knew_- that a breakthrough was imminent. He turned his back to shield his movements from the observation window and pulled a loaded syringe from the pocket of his lab coat, plunging it into the IV Dr. Lam had insisted on again. A few milligrams of diazepam would relax Jackson's muscles and slow his heart rate just enough to bring him closer to the normal readings that were still displayed across Lam's monitors.

"Just relax, Dr. Jackson," Forsner's voice flowed smoothly across Daniel's jangling nerves, "I know these memories can be very real, bringing up suppressed emotions and the adrenaline induced urge to fight or flee." He watched as Daniel's breathing stabilized and the wild look in his eyes was replaced by one of dogged endurance.

Daniel winced as he tried to push himself into a more upright position on the bed. Forsner adjusted the pillow behind his head and handed him a glass of water from the bedside table. "Sorry," Daniel muttered against the glass. "I guess I'm not being very helpful." He frowned, not really understanding where that feeling originated.

Forsner smiled. "Directing someone to try to remember a specific detail in his life is like that old joke about not thinking about elephants," the scientist remarked. "The more you try not to think about them…"

"…the more images of large grey animals with long trunks and flapping ears spring into your mind," Daniel added, stealing a glance at the Tok'ra view screen as if expecting a picture of Dumbo to appear. Hazy images chased each other across the flat panel, but nothing came into focus.

"Dr. Jackson?" Carolyn Lam's voice was preceded by the loud click of the observation room microphone. Both men looked up at the window, surprised to see two figures staring down at them. "If you have a minute," she smiled at the large man standing next to her, "you have a visitor who needs some help with an Ancient translation."

"Indeed," Teal'c placed both hands behind his back and gazed down at his teammate.

Forsner swallowed loudly. That had been close.

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With the holidays soon upon us, I'll try to update as quickly as possible. The next chapter will be posted by Sunday afternoon. Thank you for your patience and support.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

Hank Landry gulped the last mouthful from his Air Force mug and stared down at his men in the 'gate room below. It was one of the calms between storms at the SGC, and watching his people go about their routine tasks of maintenance and security always brought a sense of wonder to the veteran commander – somehow, in some way, a greater sense of wonder than when he watched the billowing blue flame of the opening wormhole, or felt the pure adrenaline shock of his own transport through the Stargate. He'd seen some remarkable things since he'd allowed Jack O'Neill to strong-arm him into taking his spot here in Cheyenne Mountain, and the resilience and courage of the men and women under his command were what made it worth the long hours, perpetual stomach ulcers, and plain old fear that, any moment, he'd bark the order that would end it all for the entire human race – not the cool space gadgets and intergalactic babes, as Jack had suggested. He smiled at the memory as he moved towards his office.

Teal'c had returned to P2L-688 an hour ago, with strict instructions to have Mitchell check in after this ceremony the Hostan leaders wanted him to participate in.

"Colonel Mitchell insists on taking part in the ceremony inside the Hostan temple, even though he does not know what it might entail," the Jaffa's growl had masked a genuine concern that the general knew wasn't solely devoted to Mitchell.

"And you don't agree," the general had turned a sharp gaze to the man sitting across the desk.

"I do not," Teal'c had not met the SGC commander's eye. "It is an unnecessary risk."

Landry made a soft snorting noise and moved towards the door. "I'm not sure that anyone on SG-1 would understand the definition of an unnecessary risk, Teal'c." He had recognized Teal'c's dilemma, torn between a desire to return to his team and his loyalty to Jackson, who was facing an even more insidious enemy at the base.

"I've got some balls in the air," he'd advised the Jaffa with a grin. "You know," he gestured with both hands, making juggling motions. At Teal'c's raised eyebrow he gave up. "I'm telling you that I'm not sitting on my hands here, Teal'c, I've got people looking into this Forsner guy, and others tracing the source of this sudden interest in Dr. Jackson's brain. Trust me," he'd made it more of a command than a request, "I'm on your side."

Teal'c had bowed from the neck up, which Landry took to be his way of saying, "If you let anything happen to Daniel Jackson while I'm not here to protect him, you'll wish you were dead." It didn't sound so insubordinate when the Jaffa only said it with his eyes.

"Daniel Jackson has said that the translations and analysis will take several hours, at least," the large man turned to fall in a pace behind the general as they strode towards the 'gate room. "He seemed most distracted by these…tests…to which he is being subjected." Teal'c made it clear that he didn't like the troubled look he'd seen in his friend's face as he lay on the bed in the isolation room, or the slow and hesitant quality of his speech as he'd explained the Hostan situation. "He claims that he is suffering no ill effects…"

"That's right," Landry had interrupted firmly, patting Teal'c on one shoulder before turning to gesture to Master Sergeant Harriman up in the control room. The 'gate began spinning as the technician input the coordinates to send Teal'c on his way. Landry had been glad he'd been able to tell Teal'c that, so far, Carolyn's careful monitoring showed that the archaeologist was in no apparent danger – other than a new crop of headaches that were plaguing him from the continuous reminders of old wounds. "Dr. Lam is taking every possible precaution. You just concentrate on finding out what the hell is going on on that planet, and whether or not there's a clue about the Ancients that we can actually use."

A brief knock at his open office door drew Landry's attention and he waved the thin man in the dark suit to a chair.

"Agent Barrett, just the man I've been waiting for."

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His glasses hung unheeded from between his fingers as he pressed both hands against his eyes, causing spectacular fireworks to erupt on his retinas. The headache had grown with every heartbeat – he could feel it pulsing along the nerves in his body, from his feet to his eyeteeth. He blew out the breath he'd been holding and sat up straighter, trying to blink the afterimages from before his eyes so that he could concentrate on the Ancient writing that flowed across his computer screen. Even with Vala's surprisingly steady hand with the camera, the constant stream of images set his stomach churning and he forcibly swallowed the bile that rose up in his throat. If Daniel didn't know any better, he'd think he was back on Abydos after an evening of too much of Skaara's 'moonshine.' Sha're hadn't been particularly sympathetic the morning after, he remembered, a small smile touching his mouth. He mentally shook himself – he didn't have time for a memory-hangover right now.

Teal'c had returned two hours before SG-1's scheduled check-in with at least that much digital video for Daniel's review. He fingered the other tapes that Teal'c had rushed back from Hosta. He had left Mitchell, Sam, and Vala for this – for Daniel's translation and analysis of the Hostan culture – and Daniel would be damned if he let them down. But the sluggishness that had hit him sometime during that last memory was eating away at his strength and he couldn't get his mind to focus. He'd finally sent Teal'c off to report to General Landry so he wouldn't have to feel his friend's sharp gaze on the back of his neck as he struggled to put meaning to the Ancient text. There were hours of recordings here, and even though Dr. Forsner had put up was only a fleeting objection to calling an early halt to the testing, and had quickly retired with his nose glued to his new readings, Daniel knew that it wouldn't be long before he'd be called back to the isolation room.

The story Teal'c had described was fascinating – and triggered some remote alarm bells beneath the fog of Daniel's memory – if he could only think clearly. The story of a rebel or "wild one" stealing lightning from heaven resembled many myths from many different cultures, including the tale of Prometheus taking fire from the gods, but something was still bothering him. The story was the key, and understanding the story was impossible until he figured out the meanings of the Ancient words that the villagers had corrupted over the years. But he couldn't begin that task without context, without the visual cues and cultural framework that he was missing stuck on Earth at the SGC. This 'Tegera' that Mitchell was to attend that afternoon might just give him the information that he needed.

He turned away from the nausea-inducing recordings and flipped through the notebooks and papers lying haphazardly on his desk. The Ancient word Texaria literally translated as "bury" or "cover" but he couldn't imagine what ceremony all of the elders of the village would be attending with a name like that – a funeral didn't really make much sense. Clearly the woman in the painting was a representation of a powerful being, and lightning was a common element linking this story to the Ancients, but it was more like she had used the villagers to capture, or leash, this lightning – this power – almost like the Ori used their followers' worship as fuel for their own strength. But what could an Ancient need help with from the lower beings? Daniel knew that his thoughts were a mess, rushing in first one direction and then another, but he couldn't seem to rein them in.

Rubbing the back of his neck with one hand, Daniel reached for the coffee cup that wasn't in its regular spot marked by years of dark rings against the light wood. Right. No caffeine. Surely that torture was enough to earn him a reprieve from this testing. He turned back to his computer screen and punched a few keys to switch images. The woman held the lightning in one hand and something red and flowing in the other. He closed his eyes to see if that would help focus his fleeting thoughts. In mythology red could denote many things: a red rose meant love and beauty, and in Asian cultures signified marriage; red could also mean anger, or vengeance, meanings that came from the color of blood associated with war and wrath; red often symbolized fire, in either its purifying or destructive element; and, of course, there was always good old sex. Daniel snickered, wondering what exactly the priests of the inner temple had in mind for Colonel Mitchell. And he was going to miss it.

Clearly the red element in the painting had something to do with the people, the lowers who were ranged around her, and who helped her sheath the lightning. Sheath the lightning. Something flickered behind his eyelids and he struggled to grasp the memory. The words were chasing each other around his skull – wild one, lightning, sheath, red, Texaria – but they wouldn't settle into any coherent pattern. All he got was a sense of familiarity, almost déjà vu, as if this was a story he'd heard when he was a child. His parents didn't believe in fairy tales, he remembered fondly, but loved to read Daniel stories of the ancient cultures that they explored. Stories of Egyptian gods and Sumerian heroes, Tibetan fables and Norse epic battles rather than Little Red Riding Hood or Jack and the Beanstalk. And after they'd died he'd tried to hold onto those little pieces of his family in their honor, even when all of the stories had died away and every day was a fight for existence.

The ring of his telephone distracted him, and whatever cohesiveness that had been starting to form broke apart again to retreat into the corners of his mind. He grabbed the handset in annoyance.

"Dr. Jackson, it's Dr. Forsner," the neurologist's excited voice was too loud for Daniel's aching head and he pulled the receiver away to hold it a few inches from his ear. "I think I'm on to something here, Dr. Jackson, and I was wondering if you could come back to the isolation room. I know you're working on something your friend brought from off-world, but if you could just hear me out…" Daniel closed his mouth over the immediate objection he'd been about to spout as the scientist burbled on enthusiastically. He wondered if this was how the rest of the team felt whenever he started explaining some remarkable breakthrough that only he could really appreciate. He tried to draw up a modicum of empathy for Forsner and decided to hear him out, tuning in to the rapid progression of words that flowed out of the earpiece.

"I think we've been going about this the wrong way," Forsner continued, "concentrating on memories of your time as an Ascended being. Obviously you did not have a physical body or a brain as we know it, while you were Ascended, so any memories of those times would not necessarily reveal any kind of abnormal brain activity, right?"

Daniel hesitated, wondering if the scientist actually wanted an answer, or if he was just pausing for breath.

"Dr. Jackson? Are you there?"

"Yes, yes, I'm here," Daniel replied hurriedly. "That makes sense. So…?"

"So," Daniel could almost hear the smile on the man's face, "so instead of focusing on those memories, we should really be looking at your memories of the times you've used these so-called 'advanced mental powers.' Your confrontation with Adria, and with the replicator, and the other occurrences in the mission reports. Those are the memories we should access to determine if your brain activity increased."

Daniel shrugged, and then realized that Forsner couldn't actually see his response. "Right. Okay, ah," he glanced at his wrist chrono, "let me just check in with Teal'c before he leaves…"

"I believe your friend has already gone back through the Stargate, Dr. Jackson," Forsner interrupted quickly. "I was in conference with Dr. Lam when he was cleared to resume his mission with SG-1."

"Oh," Daniel's brows drew together for a moment, trying to remember if Teal'c had said how soon he'd be returning to P2L-688. He must have missed it in the fog. "Well, I didn't have much of anything to tell him, so I guess I'll see you in a few minutes."

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Oralia helped her young charge pour the clear liquid from the clay pitcher into each of the five goblets arranged on the small table in the temple courtyard, managing to keep the excited boy from spilling too much on the Ancient pathway. The flush was constant on his cheeks now, as his gaze darted between Carter's blue eyes and Vala's dark hair. Kind but firm, Oralia motioned the boy to stand at a respectful distance from the small gathering.

"Where is your friend?" she asked, looking around the garden as she took her seat.

"Ah, he had to return to the Stargate – the Astra Pera – to talk with some of our people," Mitchell explained, eyeing the cup in front of him suspiciously.

"Will he be returning?"

"Oh I'm sure he'll be back just as soon as possible," Vala smiled, leaning forward to grasp her own goblet. She sniffed at the clear liquid and glanced back at their guide inquiringly.

Oralia picked up her cup and waited until Mitchell and Carter followed suit. "This wine is a gift, from the spring of the Etavia," she explained, retreating into that recitation voice that she'd used earlier. "It is a great gift, and a great comfort. With it they remind us of their compassion for our people, and their understanding of our weakness." Her green eyes widened in surprise as the three visitors remained still and made no move to taste the wine. Sam saw the instant that comprehension dawned on her features. Raising the cup to her lips, Oralia took a long drink and set the cup back on the table. "Do not fear," she smiled, "the myrstra have no wish to harm you."

Mitchell and Carter's eyes met over the cups. Both colonels were reviewing basic first contact regs, including the paragraph titled, "Alien Food and Drink: Precautions." Sam knew that, if Daniel had been there, he would have already downed most of the liquid in his own cup, knowing how important it was to take part in the rituals of other cultures in order to cement friendship. The risks seemed minimal, after all, as all of the liquid had been poured from the same pitcher, and Oralia certainly wasn't showing any ill effects. Even so, Vala was the first to take a tentative taste.

Lifting her eyebrows, she looked more disappointed than surprised by the taste. "It's water," she remarked, gazing accusingly at the myrstra.

Oralia laughed. "What is wine but water that gives life and health and comfort?" she asked. "The spring here," she lifted one hand towards the small structure beside them, "supplies our needs, and has never run dry, even in times of hardship," she continued.

"Well," Vala took another, larger sip, "it is very _good_ water, don't get me wrong."

Both Sam and Mitchell relaxed and took small sips from their goblets. A healthy person could survive even the most tainted ground water in small amounts, and this tasted anything but tainted. There was a faint earthiness to the taste, like one would find kneeling down at a forest stream after a rainstorm, and it also had a hint of sweetness, but nothing that raised the hackles on Mitchell's neck.

Oralia nodded to Lian, and the boy hurried forward to refill the cups before bounding back up the stairs and into the building. "Lian will bring bread and cheese so that you might relax here in the garden before the Tegera, Caryph. And before your women," Vala and Sam exchanged a sardonic look at this phrase, while Mitchell carefully kept his expression decidedly neutral, "begin their study of our archives."

"Hey, I'm ready," Mitchell adjusted the weapon that hung from his tac vest and nodded at the young woman.

"The sacorla will come for you when the time is right," Oralia smiled shyly. "Until then you may refresh yourselves, or wander as you would throughout the garden."

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"Thanks for coming," General Landry greeted the NID agent. "I assume you wouldn't be here if you hadn't found something?" His eyes rested on the briefcase in the man's lap.

"The tracks had been covered by an expert, General," Malcolm Barrett began, snapping open the locks on his briefcase and removing a plain white folder that was dubious in its simplicity. "And, no thanks are necessary." He paused, locking eyes with the Air Force general. "I'd be out of a job and stripped of my clearances without the testimony you and your team gave concerning the Ba'al situation."

"Did you ever find out how it happened? How you were exposed to the brainwashing or who was behind it?"

"There's no proof," Barrett shook his head, narrow eyes cold at the thought, "but I think we can both guess when and how it happened. And who was responsible."

Landry's wintry smile was a good match to Barrett's expression. "The Goa'uld are certainly long-range-planners, aren't they?" With lifetimes that spanned thousands of years, the Goa'uld had perfected the tactic of planting sleepers and waiting for the right moment to activate them. Landry knew that the memory of his role in Ba'al's theft of the list of Ancient Stargate addresses still rankled the NID agent, and that he'd leap at any chance to throw the investigative spotlight back on his own organization, and their potential ties to The Trust.

Barrett opened the folder and placed it on the general's desk. "I traced Dr. James Forsner through his grants and tax records for five years. For the last two, he's been working out of Area 51, which is under the direct control of the NID, as you know. He first suggested a possible connection between Dr. Jackson's Ascension and the powers of the Ori Priors in a study he did 20 months ago." He stood up and walked around the desk, carefully nudging the door shut on his way past, and leaned over Landry's desk. He flipped to a copy of an internal Area 51 memo. "You see his superior giving him permission to start preliminary experimentation on animals, and allowing him access to all of the information about Dr. Jackson, his Ascension, and other information as it became available. Like the reports on Khalek."

"Scientists," Landry shook his head in disgust, "trust them to turn human lives into mathematical variables."

Barrett hesitated for a moment. "Isn't your daughter a scientist, General Landry?"

"Not that kind of scientist," the general replied gruffly. "Get on with it."

"Yes, sir," Barrett flipped through another set of scientific chicken-scratch. "From what I can understand, his procedures were all above board, all scientifically honest, and his colleagues' worst comments about him were that he was a brown-noser, and made a point of sucking up to his boss to get more lab and equipment time allocated to his experiments."

"He's a manipulator," Landry observed.

"Exactly. And he manipulated himself right into the chief researcher's back pocket. That's how he got enough clout to send his proposal to the IOA and to get them to take him seriously."

"Wonderful," the general sat back in his chair so that he could meet Barrett's eyes. "Is this it? Because, I gotta tell you, I'm not impressed." He poked one finger scornfully at the open file.

Barrett moved back to put the desk between them and settled into his chair, folding his hands in front of him and allowing a small smile to play across his face. "His actions since signing on with Area 51 aren't the interesting part, General Landry. It's where he came from that I think you'll find fascinating."

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Forsner didn't waste any time when Daniel arrived in the quiet isolation room. Gesturing him up onto the bed, he began strapping on monitor pads, and attaching leads to the archaeologist's chest as he explained his theory, quickly, never hesitating long enough to allow the man time to think.

"…you see where I'm going with this Dr. Jackson," Forsner's words finally ran down and Daniel blinked up at the intent face hovering over him, his own mind still focused on piecing together the puzzle that Teal'c had brought back from the Hostan village.

"I think so," he replied, frowning. "You want to concentrate on one particular occurrence of what you're describing as my 'advanced mental powers,'" he filled the phrase with his own doubtful sarcasm, "to see if you can pinpoint the part of the brain that I'm supposedly accessing."

"Yes, that's it exactly," Forsner finished attaching the monitors and the medical machinery started up its usual beeps and clicks, recording Jackson's apparently normal readings. He swiped a cold astringent pad over the man's right arm and swiftly inserted the needle, twisting the canula so that the injection port was readily accessible if Jackson needed another dose of sedative, or some other emergency medication.

"Ow! Watch it," Daniel exclaimed at the scientist's brusque movements. He looked up and noticed the empty observation room. "Where is Dr. Lam?"

"I'm afraid that Dr. Lam was been called away," Forsner replied, "some sort of emergency off-world. She felt that we could continue without her based on your normal responses in our previous two sessions."

Daniel stared at the nervous movements of the neurologist, narrowing his eyes in an attempt to bring some rational thought to his immediate surroundings. "Why don't I believe that," he muttered, too softly to reach Forsner's ears. "Strange," he added at normal volume, "I didn't hear the base alarm."

Forsner, standing at Daniel's side saw the archaeologist's first moment of doubt and suddenly switched the Tok'ra device to a high setting with one flick of the stylus he'd kept out of sight in the palm of his hand.

"_Ahhh_ -" A swift spasm of pain seared through Daniel's body and scattered his thoughts as a cry forced itself between his clenched teeth.

Forsner grabbed Daniel's right arm with both hands, struggling to keep it straight to preserve the IV line, and forced it down onto the bed, wrestling it into place so he could attach the soft restraints that had hung unnoticed from the side of the bed frame. He moved quickly around the bed, tethering Daniel's limbs so he couldn't move, and couldn't reach out to disconnect the metal disk from his temple - not that his patient was in any shape to think coherently about escape. He halted by Jackson's left side to catch his breath – for a scientist, Jackson was remarkably strong. "Just a precaution," he panted, in sardonic imitation of Dr. Lam's words to her patient just yesterday.

He flicked a glance up at the observation room and then at the closed metal door that shielded Jackson's cries from the rest of the base. He didn't have much time – the tracking programs that had been set up to notify him if anyone began looking into his past had delivered their warnings just a few hours ago, via email, so the wolf could be at the door, so to speak, at any moment. Looking down at the writhing body of the man who had once been Ascended, who had touched something of the divine, Forsner shook his head sadly. "This is not how I wanted to do this, Dr. Jackson, please believe me. But I must have these answers, with or without your help."

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"Uh-oh, I think our little tea party is over," Vala commented as two figures in matching red robes approached SG-1 and their host. Oralia quickly rose to her feet, stumbling slightly in her haste, and turned, crossing both arms over her chest in a gesture of respect. Suddenly alert, Mitchell, Sam, and Vala sat forward, placing cups and bowls back on the table, intent on the newcomers.

No little boys or young girls here, the sacorla were grown men, and from the looks of their well-filled robes, they didn't spend all their time standing around giving guided tours and working in the garden. In fact, the only resemblance between these two and the myrstra were their close-cropped hair and a definite aura of mystery.

"Be welcome," the taller one stated, his voice startlingly gentle. Both men made the by now familiar salute with one hand and nodded in Mitchell's direction. "The time is ready for your Tegera, Caryph."

Mitchell hazarded one look at his SIC and made a 'what the heck' gesture with one hand, the other in its accustomed position on his P90, and he leaned forward to rise from his seat. Apparently he'd been sitting on the hard wooden bench for too long, because he found his legs strangely heavy and reluctant to move. He straightened and leaned slightly from side to side to shake out each leg, but the heavy feeling remained.

"Cam?" Carter seemed to be having the same problem, and Mitchell saw her fingers whiten as her grip on her own weapon tightened painfully. She put one hand out to brace herself against the backrest of Oralia's seat, struggling to keep her balance.

Mitchell took one staggering step towards her before he felt strong hands under his arms, supporting him. "Whoa, what the hell is going on," he could tell his speech was slurred, and the bright colors of the garden blurred around him.

"You are safe with us, Caryph," the same gentle voice now came from beside Mitchell's left ear, and, he guessed, belonged to one of those ham-hands that was gripped around his upper arm. But turning his head to look was out of the question.

"Let go of him," at least Vala's voice still sounded solid, and Mitchell was pleased to hear the sound of metal against metal as she released the safety on her weapon. "I said," it was amazing how she could sound so ruthless with those little stick arms and legs of hers, Mitchell thought, a chuckle threatening to bubble out from his throat, "let go of him."

The other guy, the one who hadn't spoken yet and had hold of Mitchell's right arm pulled him around, sending the world into a crazy spin, until they all faced the dark haired woman. Still seated, Vala had her P-90 up, pointed somewhere to Mitchell's left, at 'soft-voice guy' probably, but, was it him, or was the muzzle swaying like a drunken sailor on shore leave? Nope, wasn't him, Mitchell decided as Vala's eyes began to close and he began regretting that she'd set the rifle to fire as he watched it waver alarmingly.

Both women crumpled towards the ground, and Mitchell tried to brace himself for the blast of automatic fire that was inevitable, but a flash of white streaked past his right shoulder and the little kid – Linus? Liam? – grabbed Vala's weapon before it hit the rigid path. "Nice save, kid," Mitchell congratulated the boy.

The girl, Oralia, moved in front of him slowly and carefully, her bright eyes sleepy. "Please do not worry, Caryph," she said, "the wine is a gift of the Etavia. Your women will awaken very soon, and will be ready to serve you."

Mitchell couldn't help a loud guffaw at that little turn of phrase. "Oh, you are so lucky they didn't hear that," he stuttered, trying to keep his eyes open as a numb, weightless feeling replaced the heaviness in his arms and legs.

"It is only to help you during the Tegera," soft-voice spoke again as the two frog-marched him along the pathway towards the temple, and Oralia flitted in and out of his vision along one side. "All of the cogni partake of the wine in preparation," he continued, "and so the pain is lessened, and they may do their duty without fear."

"Ohhh, pain doesn't sound good," Mitchell knew he was being pulled forward into some dark place, some danger - he knew he should be fighting, using his training from both the Air Force and the Sodan warriors to get free from these hulks, but he just couldn't dredge up the energy. Somewhere deep inside his mind someone was yelling, telling him to wake up, to move, but it was getting further and further away.

They turned him to face the daylight once more just inside the entrance to the temple. While the silent one held him up, the other one stripped him of his tac vest, his weapons, his BDU shirt and his cap and handed them one-by-one to Oralia. He fingered the black t-shirt that lay against Mitchell's skin, but left it alone. "Guard these for his return," the talkative one said, taking his place at Mitchell's side again.

"I will," the young girl responded solemnly. Bundling up the equipment awkwardly against her chest, she never took her eyes from Mitchell's face. And Oralia's green eyes, softened by sympathy or perhaps regret, were the last things Mitchell noticed before everything went black.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

His jog along the smooth pathway brought Teal'c back to the center of Hosta only two hours after he'd left the rest of SG-1 in the temple courtyard. Still, the hairs along the back of his neck and the tension in his shoulders directed him to greater speed so that, at first, the stiff figure standing to one side of the central plaza barely registered. As he made to pass by, however, the emptiness of the village square and the absence of any sound except the thud of his own boots brought his sharp gaze to the old man and he slowed, remembering Mitchell's words as they struck camp earlier this morning. It was Eneas – and he was waiting for him.

The old man kept one arm raised until he noted that the large man had seen him, and was angling to meet him at the edge of the square. He hitched his belt up awkwardly and took another step away from the firmly closed door of his home.

"Eneas," Teal'c inclined his head briefly to the older man.

"You have returned quickly," the old man nodded in return. "That is good."

"Has something occurred?" Teal'c scanned the empty village and shifted his grip on his weapon.

Eneas flashed a humorless smile. "I imagine that all goes as planned at the temple – I have not been welcome there for many years."

Torn between hearing more from the villager and getting back to his team, Teal'c reined in his urge to rush down the pathway. Any information that Eneas may be willing to share now, while the rest of the villagers hid inside their homes, might prove extremely useful. He settled himself to patience and raised one eyebrow quizzically. "You are not welcome at the temple?"

"No, only the cogni take part in the Tegera, friend, and I have heard the great story more times than I care to count from the prattling youngsters who wear the white." Now he did smile and gestured awkwardly for Teal'c to walk beside him along the pathway. "The cogni must be strong enough to bear the ritual, and, well," he tapped his lame right arm, "I am that no longer."

Teal'c was relieved to be moving in the right direction, even if it was at a slow pace, and tried to focus on the old man's words. Hidden meanings and veiled references had filled his mind with suspicion since their first contact with the people on this world. These few sentences uttered in solitude by one old man had done more to clear the fog behind which this culture hides than the seemingly warm welcome SG-1 had received from the elders, or the priests at the temple. "You once were a member of the cogni?"

The grizzled head nodded. "I was. Head of my bloodline, although all blood has been tainted by intermingling in these latter days," he added with swift disapproval. "My son is now given my place in the Tegera, and as Caryph."

Eyebrows moving towards his hairline, Teal'c blinked in surprise. The physical resemblance was slight, but he should have recognized the similarities in gestures and expressions. "Adano is your son." It wasn't a question.

"Yes." One word could carry a wealth of emotion, and Teal'c heard the bitterness and hurt of many years wrapped up in that single syllable.

"I, too, have a son," Teal'c offered softly. "His name is Rya'c, and he carries my pride and affection with him."

Eneas stopped for a moment and met the large man's gentle gaze. "He must be very young as you have not seen many years. I pray that nothing changes between you as he becomes a man."

"I am not as young as you would think," Teal'c smiled again, "and Rya'c has now begun his own family, teaching another generation what it means to be free."

It was Eneas' turn for surprise. "Well," he began walking again, "your world must be very different from Hosta."

"Indeed." The silence grew as a feeble rain began to fall, hitting the ground in an uneven rhythm as if tiny beads were being dropped from a woman's necklace. The old man wanted to tell him something, Teal'c knew, but was having a difficult time beginning. "How did you lose the use of your arm?" he tried, hoping that the villager would not be offended by the question.

A sigh was released from deep within the old man, as if he had been waiting for this moment. "The Tegera."

"Vala – Vala!" Sam knelt over her teammate, touching cold fingers to the woman's throat. Vala moaned and moved her head from side to side, a frown creasing her forehead. Sam grabbed at the empty place that once held her canteen and swore under her breath, trying to shake the wooly feeling from her thoughts. Her tac vest, weapon, belt and holster were missing, as were Vala's, and they'd been left alone where they'd fallen next to the spring house in the middle of the temple garden. Her eyes shifted to take in any possible threats, but, except for the white robed figures who were still tending to weed-pulling duty, she could see nothing suspicious - except for their missing weapons and supplies, and one very missing Air Force colonel.

"Vala!" Sam slapped her teammate's cheek gently and was rewarded by large grey eyes snapping open and focusing immediately on her face. Vala narrowed them quickly, however, to shield them from the light rain that had apparently roused Sam.

"Mitchell."

"Yeah, he's gone," Sam sat back on her heels and ran a hand over her face.

Vala propped herself up on her elbows and fought the dizziness that movement brought. "Those two muscle-bound priests," she snorted, "priests, right, priests are supposed to be all frail and bookish, not built like first primes – they took him."

"And our weapons and our radios," Sam added, watching as Vala checked for herself. "How do you feel?"

Levering up to a sitting position, Vala unknowingly imitated Sam's thought-clearing head shake. "Fuzzy," she replied eventually. She wiggled her fingers in front of her eyes thoughtfully. "And not just my head, it's like my entire body's been asleep, you know, that tingling, numb feeling you get in your foot when you sit the wrong way?"

Sam nodded and tried to push herself to her feet for the second time. The first time resulted in a bruise on her elbow when she hit the pavement, and a damp crawl over to Vala's unmoving body. This time she made it, and, holding onto the back of the nearest bench for support, she shook out her legs, one after the other, as if she were getting ready for a run. "The feeling is starting to come back, I think," she noted. "Whatever was in that wine doesn't seem to last long."

"They drugged us?" Vala contented herself with trying to rub the circulation back into her legs. Her head was still cluttered with foggy images and dream-like impressions – plenty of time to get to her feet when she actually had a hope of staying there for longer than a few seconds. "But even that girl, Oralia, drank from the same pitcher."

"Maybe she's built up some kind of immunity to it," her inability to collect her thoughts clearly irritated Carter almost as much as her unwilling muscles. "We've got to get into that temple."

"Hang on," Vala crawled slowly to her knees, eyes tightly shut against the whirling landscape, "I think I've got a nail file in here somewhere. I'm sure I can force my way past those two goons quite easily."

Sam clenched her teeth against an angry reply. "No, but I'm betting they took our weapons in there," the nod towards the small building to their right might have been a mistake, but she rode out the dizziness and took a tentative step away from the bench. "If not, maybe we can find something else."

Successfully maneuvering into a squat, Vala clenched and unclenched her fists. "Right. It is a garden, after all. Just let me at a nice sturdy shovel and I'll give them something to remember."

"That's the spirit," Carter replied, hauling her uncooperative body up the four stone steps that had seemed much shallower from the ground. She fell against the door, holding herself up by bracing against the sturdy wooden door handle. Unfortunately, the door opened out. She depressed the switch to release the catch and hauled back on the door, shifting her body out of the way to allow a few inches of light to show between the door and the jamb.

"Can you see anything?" Vala's whisper came from close behind her.

A stone pillar dominated the center of the small room, and Carter could hear the steady flow of water more clearly as she pushed the door wider. A sudden shadow detached itself from the back wall, and Sam froze. The figure came forward slowly until she could make out the shorn head and pale face of Lian.

"You should not be here," he whispered, his gaze darting through the open doorway.

"Yeah, well, just give us back what you took from us and we'll be off," Sam replied, straightening against the door frame. Even in her current condition she could take the kid – all she had to do was aim correctly and she should be able to fall over on him while Vala got away.

A small oil lantern that hung next to the door flickered, alternately lighting and shadowing the boy's face. "Your packs have been taken to the village." He cleared his throat when his voice broke on the statement.

"Look," Vala had made it far enough to take in the situation, and pushed the door wider so that she and Sam effectively blocked his exit, "we're not going to hurt you; we just want to know where Mitchell is."

Lian frowned. "He is in the temple, of course. Isn't that why you've come?"

"We didn't come here so that you could drug us, take our weapons, and then force him to do something against his will," Sam retorted, her voice harsh and her blue eyes cold. "We came here to make friends with your people, and we haven't done anything to provoke this kind of attack."

"Attack? We didn't attack you," Lian was plainly frightened, and he took one hesitant step backwards into the small room.

"Well, what exactly do you call this, then?" Vala's smile was a predatory one.

"This? This is the wine of the Etavia – it helps the cogni through the Tegera," he motioned towards the stone pillar which Sam could now see was a fountain – water bubbled up from the bottom of an ovoid shape cut into the rock into a column eight inches high before falling back to land in a basin that drained back into the rock.

"All right, enough," Sam blurted, drawing the boys' gaze back to her face. "I want to know what's going on. Right now."

It was the smell that jerked Mitchell back to consciousness. Not the kind of smell you want to wake up to on a frosty fall morning – not coffee, or bacon frying, or celery cooking for the stuffing on Thanksgiving. It was an earthy smell, of death and fear. It came from the padded surface beneath his cheek, and the stones all around him, and it tasted like rust and salt. He knew this smell: it was the smell of every battlefield he'd ever been on, whether on Earth or some other damn planet in the galaxy. Someone had bled here – a lot of someones. Mitchell forced his eyes open and blinked against the darkness that pressed there.

He was lying face down on some kind of bed. Or was it a chair? His knees were bent, and it felt like he was sitting, but, from the waist up, he was leaning far forward along a six-inch-wide padded bench, with his arms dangling down on each side. That creeping lassitude that had started back in the garden still made his arms and legs feel like they'd been weighed down with forty extra pounds. His legs were back there somewhere, but his arms – they were plunged into a stone trough, about two feet deep, that ran in a long oval all the way through the dark room. He could feel the rush of water on his bare arms, neither cold nor warm, but it nudged against them continuously, making them float back and forth beneath him. He managed to lift his head from the bench, and glanced around in the dark, noting that there were at least two dozen other benches – contraptions – over the stream, spaced evenly around the room, all empty. Except for his.

"Uh, fellas?" He knew the red-robed temple bouncers had to be there somewhere, and craned his neck around until he had the one to his right in view. If he could just move his arms he could push himself up, but they weren't responding to his brain's commands to listen up and fly right. "You left my pants on, right? 'Cause Carter would never let me forget it if I lost my pants again." He looked down and noticed that a soft, padded shirt had been fitted over his black tee. It was tight, almost like it had been made to his exact measurements, and bulky, but the sleeves fell open just an inch or so down from his shoulder, allowing his arms to hang free. Narrow, white strands of cloth fell alongside the open sleeves, down which ran rows of small loops. It reminded Mitchell of a pair of tennis shoes he'd had when he was a kid – those laces had never stayed tied, no matter how many knots he put in them. He squeezed his eyes shut to try to force some clarity into his thoughts. Just where the hell did this mission go so completely sideways?

"Caryph Mitchell," the gentle-voiced priest intoned, his voice echoing through the nearly empty room. "The Etavia have given the cogni a heavy burden, but the cogni have remained faithful. The cold lightning must be sheathed, and the cogni must remain faithful. All those of the blood must remain faithful."

Mitchell squirmed on the narrow bench, trying to angle his body to one side so that he could get a knee under his chest, but a pair of large hands pushed him back down flat with very little effort. He turned his head to the left – yep, the silent one was still there. These guys were apparently a matched set.

"She has caged the lightning, and defeated the wild one. She has gathered the cogni from among the stars. It is our blood that is pure, our blood that is able. With our blood the lightning is sheathed, and only our blood will suffice."

The alarm bells weren't just ringing in Mitchell's head now, they were sending urgent messages down every nerve ending in his body. He watched the red-robed figure draw his hands from behind his back and his eyes fastened to the man's left hand. A leather strap ran across the back of his hand, holding something securely across his palm – it was a flat oval device with three needle-thin prongs standing straight up from the center. "Whoa, whoa there," Mitchell tried to draw back from the approaching figure when he felt something encircle his left arm. Adrenaline surged and each muscle tensed in the 'fight or flight' reaction that the military had trained into specific reflexes, but his arms were useless, hanging there like two pieces of meat from his shoulders, and his legs pushed feebly against the stone floor with nowhere to go.

"Look – I don't know what you guys think you're doing here, but my blood is not going to help any crazy Ancient chick keep some lightning from hitting your village." His voice sounded loud and strained in the still room. The adrenaline punch had cleared his mind of the drug-induced fog, but he could not come up with a scenario that didn't end up with him bleeding out instead of these two dummies.

Mitchell could barely feel it when the priest wrapped his hand around his arm above the elbow, and pulled his forearm out of the water. If it was the same water he and Sam and Vala had been offered by Oralia, it didn't only act as a sedative when you drank it, it also numbed from the outside - his arm was dead from the elbow down. He stared as the silent figure pressed the three sharp points against the skin on the inside of his wrist and drew them smoothly up all the way to his elbow. By turning his head slightly he could see that the soft-voiced priest on his other side had done the same. A sound forced its way past the sudden blockage in his throat – not of pain, exactly, more a grunt of utter shock as he watched the two matching scarlet streams flow down his arms and spill his life into the turbulent water.

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Short, but the next chapter will come right on its heels in a few days. Thanks again for your enthusiastic comments. Happy Thanksgiving.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

"Farrow Marshall?" General Landry surged out of his chair in one swift movement and leaned over his desk, his eyes dangerous. "They brought Forsner into Area 51 when they knew he had ties to Farrow Marshall?"

Agent Barrett's smile never wavered. "It took some digging, and I had to call in quite a few favors to back-trace him all the way to Charlotte Mayfield, or Athena, whatever she's calling herself now. Whoever washed Forsner's identity was an expert: when Area 51 did a background check he came up squeaky clean, with just the right amount of gaps and inaccuracies to make his history look like the real thing." Unmoved by Landry's rage, he shrugged his shoulders. "Hey, it's not the first time someone flew under the radar right into the heart of one of the government's most secure facilities."

"You're sure about this." Barrett recognized the general's statement for what it was – a clear warning that he was about to take action- final, irrevocable action- against the man who had duped everyone on his base, and was almost certainly putting one of his men in harm's way.

"General," Barrett held up one hand and met Landry's ferocious stare. "You don't think I'd come here with anything but a definitive answer, do you? Dr. James Forsner developed cutting-edge research on brain-wave stimulation while working for Zetatron Industries in the late 90s."

"Adrian Conrad's company," Landry added.

"Yes. When Conrad kidnapped Samantha Carter in order to study the effects the Tok'ra symbiote, Jolinar, had on her physiology, he was using some of Forsner's research. Unfortunately, Forsner was not among the scientists that were killed that day when the smoke cleared." Barrett met Sam, and Daniel Jackson, only a few weeks later, when the NID had tried to retrieve the ship that was returning for Martin Lloyd and his fellow aliens. It still amazed him that, after everything Sam had been through – and he was sure he only had access to the tip of the iceberg of her missions at the SGC – she was still so…normal. "Those weren't exactly banner days for the NID, General Landry, so it's no surprise that all of the details of that mission were well hidden. So, when Zetatron collapsed, Forsner moved over to Immunitech and then onto another research firm – but the bottom line is all of those companies were held, either in part or in whole, by Farrow Marshall, and, therefore, by the Goa'uld."

"And now the Goa'uld have an agent right here, in Stargate Command. Well, I think it's time to pull the plug on whatever Dr. Forsner thinks he's doing with Daniel Jackson." He reached for the telephone, but Barrett's hand intercepted him.

"General Landry, now that we know what Forsner is up to, and who's controlling him, it gives us the opportunity to observe him. What if he actually finds some way to access any latent powers that Daniel Jackson brought back with him from his Ascension?" Landry's eyes narrowed and Barrett withdrew his hand quickly, sitting back in his chair. "If nothing else, we might finally be able to trace the connections back to Mayfield and get enough evidence to hang her out to dry for good."

Landry tried to keep the rage and frustration he felt from broadcasting all over his features, but one look at Barrett's flinch told him he had failed miserably. "I am not letting someone with connections to a Goa'uld who has targeted one of my people before, and who was once closely allied with Ba'al, open access to a highly valued member of my command who knows more than anyone else about the Ori and their Ascended powers," the general's quiet tone might have seemed diplomatic, but he couldn't quite conceal the menace that lay right beneath the surface. He grabbed the handset from his phone and slammed his fingers down on the buttons.

Barrett stood and tugged his suit coat into place. "Yeah," he sighed, "that's almost exactly what General O'Neill said."

The man standing motionless in the middle of her busy infirmary radiated an intensity that held Carolyn Lam speechless – a rare condition for the woman who had no difficulty speaking her mind clearly and firmly to Air Force brass and her own father – which were often the same thing. Maybe it was the eyes – almost black enough to match the BDUs that he wore as if he was born in them – but with an inner fire, and enough creases around the edges to tell her that they had seen a lot. His stance seemed relaxed, hands at his hips and legs wide apart, but she noticed that he was balanced on the balls of his feet, and his hand didn't stray very far from the gun at his hip. She didn't need the short grey hair or seamed face to tell her that this man had authority here – even without any rank insignia on his uniform the reactions of the airmen and women in the infirmary were enough. Her own patient, Sgt. Siler, stiffened, as if he were trying to come to attention at his seat on the gurney next to her. Placing one hand on his shoulder to keep him in place, she quickly finished wrapping the bandage around his singed left wrist before turning to give her full attention to the newcomer.

"You're Lam."

Putting on her best inscrutable doctor face, Carolyn put both hands into her lab coat pockets and raised her chin at the tall figure. "I'm Dr. Lam, can I help you?" She noticed the man's gaze shoot over her head when Siler hopped off the gurney. Before she could turn back to her patient, one slight nod from the grey-haired man halted the tall sergeant in his tracks.

"Where is he?" Carolyn's curiosity was immediately replaced by anger. He was no longer talking to her - he had completely dismissed her, and instead directed his question over her head to Siler.

"Probably in his…" Siler answered quickly.

"Already looked there."

"Maybe he went to…"

"Looked there, too."

Dr. Lam found herself trying to follow the two men's conversation as if she were watching a tennis match take place over her head.

"Stop!" She held up both hands to interrupt the incoherent flow of words. "Just who the hell are you and what are you doing in my infirmary?"

The black eyes snapped back to her face. The controlled fury that burned there was quickly smothered as the man looked her up and down with a slight smile crooking one side of his mouth. She felt her mouth tighten in response.

"Do they only make doctors in extra small anymore? I mean, it's not even a challenge – I can just recycle all of my 'Napoleonic power-monger' jokes I used on Frasier."

"Yes, sir." Carolyn couldn't help shooting a baleful glance at the odd response from the airman standing stiffly beside the gurney before turning back to the stranger.

"Sorry," his smile touched his eyes briefly before the stormy look resurfaced. "General Jack O'Neill. I'm looking for _Dr._ Daniel Jackson." For some reason the name seemed to amuse him.

Of course. Who else could it be? Even though he'd left this command two years ago, Carolyn still heard SG teams and support staff talk about Jack O'Neill in almost mythic terms. He'd apparently visited the base every so often, and she knew he and her father were close, but she'd never come face to face with the legendary leader of SG-1 before. He certainly walked around as if he owned the place, she noticed, but, the way the men and women in the infirmary responded to the man said a lot about the loyalty and devotion that his presence inspired. No wonder Cam pushed himself so hard, she thought, trying to follow in O'Neill's footsteps couldn't be easy.

"Dr. Jackson was in his lab working on some tapes that Teal'c brought back from P2L-688 the last time I saw him," Carolyn answered. "If he's not there," suddenly the interchange between O'Neill and Sgt. Siler became clear, "I'm not scheduled to meet with him for another couple of hours."

"I thought you were supposed to be watching him," O'Neill said. He had the piercing stare down cold.

Carolyn looked around the active infirmary pointedly. "I'm not a baby-sitter, General O'Neill," she began, "and the last time I looked, Dr. Jackson was a grown man who didn't need my constant supervision."

Jack's face screwed up cynically. "You don't know our Daniel very well now, do you doc?"

"I have been monitoring every session he's undergone with Dr. Forsner, General," she ground out between her teeth, resentful of his insinuation that she was somehow shirking her duty to her patient, "and his medical readings have been completely normal."

"Sure of that, are you?" The question dripped with sarcasm and O'Neill crossed his arms over his chest, waiting.

Two could play this game, she thought, and stood looking up at him expectantly. "Unless every piece of equipment in the isolation room has been tampered with, yes, I am sure," her eyebrows drew together furrowing a deep crease in her forehead.

The telephone on the wall next to the infirmary door rang, and a young Air Force nurse tore her attention away from the argument to answer it.

"Dr. Lam? It's General Landry," Lam's eyes shifted to the nurse, who was holding the phone away from her ear as if it burned.

"Gee, I wonder what he could want," Jack sniped, his eyes still focused on Lam.

"Dr. Forsner slipped his escort and is unaccounted for," Lt. Sanders' gaze flicked between her boss and the command officer standing opposite her. "He wants to know if Dr. Jackson is with you, ma'am."

All of the energy that Carolyn had sensed building under O'Neill's façade was abruptly released, and he gathered airmen and SFs with one glance as he headed through the infirmary door. "Isolation room?" he threw the question over his shoulder as Lam hurried after him.

"Room 2, sir," it was the lanky staff sergeant who answered, beating Dr. Lam and her medical team into the hallway to follow the general.

He fell back against the bed, sweating, and his breathing harsh and loud in his ears, as the pain began to recede, little by little, until it was only a sharp stab through his head that kept time with his racing heart. He knew where he was – tied down to the infirmary bed in the SGC isolation room – but he wasn't there, he was elsewhere – many other places, all at the same time, shifting with each throb of his pulse.

_He knelt on the stone floor of the pyramid in the clutches of Ra's ribbon device for the first time, feeling his life seeping away – he crouched for cover in a naquada mine under a shower of falling rocks – he lay strapped to a cold bench in an underwater lab while his memories were stripped bare – he stood immobile as his parents were crushed under a huge capstone, and he heard their final cries – he came to himself for a moment among sweat-drenched sheets as Hathor laughed and stroked her fingers down his chest before she breathed on him again and his consciousness fell away – he fell next to his dead wife and heard her voice murmur that she loved him one last time as she died -_

"Focus, Dr. Jackson, focus," the voice cut through the force of memory, bringing him to awareness briefly. "You must fight to focus on the specific memories we need to target." It was Forsner, the doctor from Area 51. He'd done something – what? More tests? Was it time? Where was Janet…no, not Janet…_Janet was gone…_

_Simon Wells was bleeding, dying, crying with pain, and then, in a moment, the staff blast hit her and her compassionate eyes were empty, dead. In a moment. No time to say good-bye, or thank-you. No time to – _

The pain screamed through his body and he felt himself arch up off of the bed, every muscle straining against gravity, against his bonds.

"I said focus, Dr. Jackson!" Forsner's face came into view above him, intent, angry. He wanted something from him. Wanted him to remember something. Something red, a weapon sheath, lightning. Daniel blinked tears from his eyes. Mitchell…Mitchell was in trouble.

"Focus on your fight with the replicator who took Colonel Carter's form, Dr. Jackson," Forsner ordered. "She wanted the Ancient weapon on Dakara. She sent replicators to the SGC through the Stargate."

There was a weapon there, in those memories, _a long silver sword grew from her arm – Sam and not Sam – he'd fought so hard for so long to find her weak spot – holding all those replicators still had cost him – seeing the vastness of them all spread out through Universe – _

"That's it! Right there, try to hold on to that moment Dr. Jackson," Forsner hovered over the man on the bed, watching the brain waves on his computer finally begin to react as he had been hoping. One area of Jackson's brain, one of the areas that usually showed minimal synaptic activity in a normal human, was suddenly reading off the scale. He glanced down at the vital signs registering in a ticker across the bottom of his computer screen – he'd driven Jackson well past the safe range; it was only a matter of seconds before either his heart stopped or he stroked out. He had to get more readings. He edged the memory device's power supply just a fraction of an inch higher.

_Cold – so cold when the sword pierced his chest – those blue eyes, so familiar but so alien – he watched the fear in them as the light grew around him – so bright, he could see it even though his eyes were closed and his breath had stilled -_

"Wait, what's going on?" Forsner shook the hand-held device that suddenly registered no brain activity, as if Jackson's brain had flicked a switch and turned itself off. His eyes went first to the Tok'ra memory screen, and he watched it fill with a bright, burning light, growing in intensity until the wires that fed it power began to spark and sputter, the smell of ozone permeating the air as the screen went dark. Jackson had fallen back to the bed, his seizure abruptly halted, and he laid there, eyes wide open, gasping roughly. Forsner put his hand to Daniel's throat – his heart was staggering, one beat, pause, another, hesitant beat. He was dying, but that didn't explain the empty brain scan. He frowned and unconsciously shook the limp figure on the bed as if he was deliberately holding back the answers the scientist had been waiting for. The sharp sputtering of the fused computer connections was replaced by the smooth grating of the isolation room's metal door. Forsner looked up, confused, to see an irate man dressed in black holding a pistol aimed unwaveringly at his head.

"Get the hell away from him!"

_Now_

_He knew he was screaming – his throat was raw, the muscles strained and taut, choking on the bile that rose in denial – but he couldn't hear it – the dead silence lay there, unaffected. The white lights blinded his eyes as the tears ran unheeded down his face, his neck. No – No – not this. He struggled against the lethargy, and shuddered unwillingly against the euphoria, the release that filtered through his nerves, relaxing his cramped muscles and leaving him gasping. Oh God, no, no…the darkness rose around him, enveloping him in its arms and the struggles ceased._

The thin, bearded face smiled above the sarcophagus. "This should be interesting."


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

The old man's words seared through Teal'c's mind and pushed his legs to greater speed along the alien pathway. By the time Eneas finally brought himself to describe the ritual that awaited Colonel Mitchell within the Ancient temple, Teal'c had known in his heart that he would be too late to save the new commander of SG-1. His jaw clenched in anger – the humans he had chosen as his allies and family so many years ago were easily damaged and yet exceptionally resilient. Mitchell had survived horrible injuries in the skies over Antarctica, had earned the trust of the dour Sodan warriors, and yet he might come to his end among these seemingly gentle and friendly humans. Teal'c blamed himself. His eyes tightened into slits as he revisited his error: one could not effectively serve two masters, nor fight a successful campaign on two fronts simultaneously – this was a lesson learned by young Jaffa in his earliest years of training. That he, Teal'c, had allowed his attention to be divided between SG-1's mission and his friend's ordeal at the SGC was unforgiveable, and might lead to the death of one of his comrades.

He did not hesitate when he reached the locked gate at the entrance to the temple grounds – his eyes took in the simple iron latch while he was still some distance from it, and his mind made the necessary calculations automatically. One well-placed kick sent one-half of the ornate gate tumbling through the doorway and skidding into a brightly colored flowerbed. Not slowing, Teal'c scanned the courtyard area and immediately dismissed the startled, white-robed figures that stared in his direction. His strides brought him to the small, central building quickly, where some of the tension that knotted his gut was eased when he sighted the two figures blocking the doorway.

"Colonel Carter! Vala Mal Doran!" He checked his pace and halted a few feet from the women, hand clutching his weapon tightly. "Where is Colonel Mitchell?"

Vala turned, steadying herself with one hand on the wooden door at her back and smiled in relief at the warrior. "Muscles – that's just what we're trying to figure out. Come on in here and shake this little boy until something useful pops out, will you?" She wavered as if struggling to stand against a strong wind, nearly pitching headfirst down the stairs before Teal'c jumped forward and caught her by the shoulders.

Taking in the situation out of the corner of her eye, Carter kept her focus on the pale face of young Lian who was shuffling forward to get a better view. "Two of the temple priests showed up just as whatever they'd laced the wine with kicked in, Teal'c," she explained over her shoulder. "We think they took Cam into the temple."

"Then we must hurry," Teal'c kept his firm grip on Vala's arms until he felt her take her own weight and saw the glint of determination surface above the haze clouding in her eyes. "I have just come from Eneas in the village. He has told me of their _ritual_." The complete contempt that Teal'c was able to inject into the word made the hairs on the back of Sam's neck rise stiffly.

"Teal'c?" She slid back against the stone wall and faced her teammate.

"I must go," he turned and brushed his fierce gaze across her face as he hefted his weapon. "Will you and Vala Mal Doran be all right?"

"Go," Sam hissed, her jaw muscles tightening in fear at the Jaffa's demeanor. "We'll be right behind you."

With a swift nod he fled, roughly shouldering aside the two red-robed figures who attempted to forbid his access to the heavy temple doors. The men did not make a second attempt, but stood aside to watch the hardened warrior hurl himself against the barricade; the sturdy wooden planks reinforced by bands of iron barely gave against the Jaffa's furious assault. Teal'c's rage grew and he roared, throwing his shoulder against the rigid doors, and wishing that he still carried the Goa'uld staff weapon instead of the Tauri rifle.

Turning in one fluid motion he grabbed the closest priest by the front of his red robe and held him tightly against his chest. Fear leaped into the man's dark eyes and he struggled uselessly in Teal'c's powerful grasp. Thrusting his jaw forward, only inches from the priest's, Teal'c growled, "Open it."

The man swallowed, his pronounced Adam's apple jerking up and down his throat as he tried to form words. Teal'c shook him with one massive fist. "I cannot!" he cried, finally, "The temple is sealed during the Tegera!"

"I do not care about your ritual," the Jaffa spat the words into the priest's face, his voice low and menacing, "you will open the doors and free my friend or I will destroy your temple."

"No!" The other priest had found his voice. He took one hesitant step towards the temple doors as if to shelter them from harm.

Teal'c released his prisoner so abruptly that the man fell over backwards, his robe fluttering around his knees as he scuttled backwards to distance himself from the Jaffa's rage. Reaching into the pocket of his tac vest, Teal'c pulled out a square of C4 and approached the remaining priest slowly. "This material will most likely obliterate the front wall of your temple, if not the entire building. Whether you remain there or not, I will use it."

"Please, you don't understand," the priest's words tumbled over each other. "Once the Tegera has begun, the sacorla bar the doors from the inside – we cannot open the doors for you, even if we would."

"Then I would advise you to move out of the way."

"Teal'c, wait," Carter's voice pulled Teal'c up short of the doors. He shifted his gaze from his goal only long enough to note that both women had made their way to the temple entrance, the boy Lian between them. "If you blow the doors you might bring the whole structure down on Cam's head."

"Colonel Carter," he did not hesitate, but attached the small round detonator to the explosive and crouched down to place it at the narrow crack where the wooden doors met. "The villager Eneas told me that during the Tegera the blood of the cogni runs free, drained from the villagers to protect them from the lightning. Colonel Mitchell does not have much time."

"Oh, God," Sam groaned, her grip tightening on the shoulder of Lian's white robe.

Beside her, Vala's face grew even paler within the disarray of her dark hair. "What? Just how exactly does that work?" she exclaimed, leaning heavily on a long-handled shovel that she had taken from the spring house.

Sam pulled the boy towards the temple. He skittered along with her, trying to keep the woman between him and the Jaffa. "Lian says he knows a way in, Teal'c, an entrance that the student priests use to spy on the ritual." She shoved the boy forward and he stumbled towards the building, keeping his head down. The effects of the water from the villagers' spring seemed to be wearing off and her head had cleared.

"He lies – there is no other entrance to the temple." One of the red-robed priests stepped towards the boy threateningly but hesitated at Teal'c's raised hand.

Torn between fear of his masters and fear of the strangers, Lian caught Sam's eyes and took a deep breath. "There is," he insisted, his gaze shifting between Teal'c's hovering figure and the priests. It's a secret – the older students swore us to secrecy."

One stride brought Teal'c to the boy's side. "You will show me. Now."

_Déjà vu. Cold. Grey tunnel vision. The slightly giddy feeling of losing consciousness. He was fascinated by the bright red streams of his own blood flowing from the parallel cuts on his arms down into the numbing water. He knew he should be fighting, struggling to get back to Sam and Vala, but looking his imminent death in the face for the second time seemed almost surreal. Maybe he didn't have the right to survive again. If he had to go, this wasn't so bad. No choking blackness of space. No flames. And especially no danger to the rest of the team – no one else was at risk, no one was counting on him, no fate of the universe stuff. It wasn't so hard to die yourself; it was failing your men that hurt the most._

"_Cameron."_

_A woman's voice called to him. His eyes closed._

"_Cameron!"_

_It would be so easy to let go._

"Colonel Mitchell!" His eyes opened – okay, that wasn't some peaceful angel's voice welcoming him to heaven. That was a pissed off Jaffa. He turned his head and saw Teal'c jabbing his P90 into the neck of one of the muscle-bound priests.

"Hey, Teal'c." He was sure he'd said it, but he didn't hear anything. A blonde head was just below his eye level, bent over his left arm. Sam? He cleared his throat and tried again. "Sam?"

She looked up, eyes wide with fear, a pressure bandage already pressed against the inside of his wrist. "It's okay, Cam, we've got you."

We? He turned his head and came nose to nose with Vala. Right. She owned the voice. Nice voice. Crazy chick, but nice voice. She'd pulled his other arm out of the water and he was starting to get that pins and needles feeling. More like needles now. Or really sharp knives. Someone turned the volume control back up and the sounds around him started registering again. It was gentle-voice guy.

"Please, let us minister to the Caryph, you should not have interrupted." Just past Vala the priest really looked upset, juggling a stone pot between his hands.

"Oh, I think you've done quite enough already," Vala snapped, using another dressing on Mitchell's right arm. "If we'd let you finish your little ritual Cameron would be dead. Sorry to disappoint you."

"No – we'd never do that." Mitchell had to hand it to the guy; he had the sincere act down pat. "The Etavia do not want our deaths, just the blood. Please," he held out his pot again, "the Caryph will not heal without our help."

Mitchell felt strong hands on his shoulders, pressing him up into a sitting position. His head swam, and he tried to blink the dark shapes from before his eyes.

"Damn." Sam's low curse drew his attention back to her. She flung one bloodstained bandage onto the stone floor and reached for another. "I can't stop the bleeding. Teal'c, get him down onto the floor."

When the blackness receded, Mitchell was looking up into the grim dark face of the Jaffa bending over him. "Colonel Mitchell. You must remain conscious." Funny. Didn't know the big guy had it in him.

"Please, Doma, the sacorla is not lying." Was that the kid? Mitchell raised his head up off the floor a few inches and saw Lian tugging on Sam's jacket, "All the cogni survive the Tegera. You must let them help your Colonel Mitchell." Vala was kneeling on the other side, working on his other arm. The two women's eyes met over him.

"Well nothing I'm doing has helped," Vala admitted. "What do you think?"

"Whatever is to be done, it must be done quickly," Teal'c added. "He will not survive the journey back to the Stargate in this state."

"Hey, it's okay, guys…" Mitchell began.

"Oh just shut up, Cameron," Vala interrupted. She pointed one long finger at the priest. "You. You can help him? And by help I don't mean shred his skin until he bleeds to death. Seriously, your explanations need a bit of work if you ask me…"

"Vala!" Sam silenced her with one word and met the priest's eager gaze. "You'll stop the bleeding?"

"Yes – yes, please."

She nodded and stepped out of the way. Mitchell watched as the priest raised his right arm with one hand and spread some kind of thick, grey paste over the oozing wounds. He held the pot of salve out to Vala, wriggling it at her when she hesitated. Finally sure the dark-haired woman understood that she was to mimic his movements, he closed the padded white sleeve over Mitchell's arm and quickly threaded the laces in and out of the small loops, tightening as he went, his fingers moving quickly. The burning pain that had been working its way up from his wrists towards his elbows suddenly stopped and he was even more surprised to find no traces of blood seeping through the white fabric.

The man stepped over Mitchell and helped Vala tighten the lacings on the other arm before sighing and leaning back on his heels. "You should not have interrupted," he repeated shakily. "The Caryph might have died."

"'He might have died,' – what did you think would happen?" Sam demanded, blue eyes flashing.

"The Etavia demand it," the priest insisted. "The blood of the cogni, taken in the Tegera, hides us from the cold lightning. The ritual has been passed from priest to priest down through the decades, just as one day Lian will learn the rites from another." He gestured at the pale-faced youth taking in the scene with wide eyes.

"Blood hides you from lightning. Well, that's only completely insane," Vala muttered, placing one hand on Mitchell's forehead and looking down at him. "How are you doing down there – need some pain killers?"

"No, it doesn't hurt," Mitchell managed to whisper, frowning, grateful but confused.

He was sure that Vala's expression matched his own. "Um, shouldn't it?"

"Indeed." Teal'c looked at Mitchell accusingly.

"It did," he wanted to explain, eyes closing as his grasp on consciousness loosened. He tried to swallow, his mouth dusty.

"The bleeding may have stopped, but if he's lost too much of his blood volume, organ systems will start shutting down," Sam looked up at Teal'c expectantly.

"We must take Colonel Mitchell back to the SGC," Teal'c agreed as he crouched down and gently maneuvered the limp colonel into a fireman's carry position. He straightened slowly, taking Mitchell's weight easily but concerned that the pressure of gravity might open the man's wounds once again.

"Can you make it back to the gate, Teal'c?" Carter brought Mitchell's right arm over the Jaffa's shoulder. The determination in Teal'c's eyes answered her question.

vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

Forsner's attention was torn between the deadly eyes of the man with the gun and the strange readings on his hand-held computer. "General O'Neill," he began, immediately recognizing the one person who had been the greatest obstacle to his brain experimentation on the archaeologist. "These readings, they're astonishing, a certain indication…" His words were choked off as O'Neill rounded the bed and grasped him by the neck, pushing him up against the isolation room equipment.

"I said," the man growled, black eyes flashing, "Get your hands off him."

Her medical team spreading out around her, Carolyn Lam strode to the bed, placing one hand on Daniel's chest as her eyes quickly scanned the medical monitors. She took in the restraints, the burned out Tok'ra memory screen still attached to the implant on Daniel's temple, and the normal heart rhythms and respiration blinking steadily across the monitor screens. Under her hand Daniel's body lay unmoving – she could barely feel the rise and fall of his chest – and his eyes were open, staring, his pupils contracted to pinpoints. "Dr. Jackson – Dr. Jackson, can you hear me?" She knuckled his chest to provoke a pain response but Daniel laid frighteningly still.

"Get those restraints off him and get me a monitor that works!" Lam's voice cut through the tension – she didn't waste one stray thought on Dr. Forsner – let General O'Neill do his worst, the bastard deserved it. He must have compromised the monitors somehow, kept her from seeing just what kind of effects his "testing" was having on Daniel's body. She should have known. God, she should have known. She whipped the stethoscope from around her neck and placed it against his chest. Too fast. Irregular. "Dammit, I need a heart monitor, now! Get that crash cart over here!"

Still pinning Forsner in place with a forearm across the scientist's throat, Jack's head turned towards the figure on the bed at Lam's tone of desperation. "Siler."

One word brought the sergeant to O'Neill's side. Taking the Beretta smoothly from Jack's hand Siler stepped neatly into the general's place, his bland, emotionless expression sending a new set of cold chills down Forsner's back.

Jack stepped towards the bed, watching Lam tear open the blue scrub top over Daniel's chest and pluck off the monitor pads before settling the electronic paddles against his skin. Her eyes were glued to the small screen on the portable defibrillator. "What?" Jack snapped.

"Ventricular tachycardia." The doctor's words came fast, flung at Jack over her shoulder as she worked. "His heart isn't pumping enough blood through his body – his brain and other organs are starving – shutting down," she explained.

_The light grew, hundreds of bright tendrils floating out from the central brightness. He knew this sight – it was familiar – he felt the welcoming rush of acceptance, of belonging. He closed his eyes and turned his face towards the warmth as if it were the sun, waiting for that presence._

"_Daniel Jackson."_

_Her voice._

"_Daniel Jackson, you must listen."_

_Wait. It wasn't…not Oma. Someone else. He opened his eyes, but there was no semblance of humanity here._

"_You cannot leave your earthly existence, Daniel Jackson. You must go back."_

Jack looked down at Daniel's face and watched his eyelids begin to slide shut, the life draining out of his eyes as they rolled back. "Oh, no you don't," the general leaned over and stuck his face next to his unconscious friend. "Daniel, you are not doing this again," he barked, "get your ass back here right now!" He put one hand on his head and turned Daniel's slack face towards him. "So help me, if you start glowing…"

"Clear!" Jack barely moved his hand in time to avoid the shock that twisted Daniel off of the infirmary bed. Lam's quick movements told Jack that Daniel's heart hadn't responded.

"What the hell did you do to him?" O'Neill shot furiously at Forsner, signaling, after a moment, for Siler to let a few molecules of air into the man's lungs so he could reply.

"General," Forsner coughed, "I've been trying to tell you. It's his brain – his brain is doing it!" He waved the small computer in the air.

Snatching the device from the scientist's hand, Jack glanced down at the scrolling information before thrusting the machine at Dr. Lam. "Doing what? Dying?"

"My God, are these his EEGs?" Lam gasped. She shot one hand out towards the Tok'ra object still stuck into Daniel's forehead, but pulled it back quickly when a small blue arc of electricity struck out from the metal into her hand. "We've got to get that off of him, General," Lam pointed one finger at the circle of metal, lights flashing across its tiny surface.

"No! Just a few more minutes," Forsner struggled ineffectually against Siler's immovable grasp. "You've got to turn it down gradually or it might cause brain damage," he shouted, watching Jack place his fingers firmly between the memory device and Daniel's skin.

Ignoring the painful shocks, Jack turned back to Lam, hesitant now. "Is he right?"

Lam shook her head. "Frankly, sir, according to these readings, Dr. Jackson's brain has already been severely damaged," she refused to give in to the despair that rushed the bile up into her throat. "If we can't restore a normal heartbeat, he's going to die."

His mouth set into a line, Jack renewed his efforts, and yanked the metal sphere from Daniel's head.

"Flat-line!" The nurse cranked the defibrillator up to 400.

_Not Oma. But he had met her before. "Morgan?"_

_He sensed a sigh behind the glittering image. "Yes, I am here. But you must go back."_

_The sense of loss that never really died stole into his soul again. To have been Ascended, to have touched the unearthly beauty of the universe, and then to be denied it. Another death – a death to hope, to peace, to knowledge – but the choice had been his. To deny himself that, to return to pain, to fear, to a constant striving against evil brought him back to his only home, his family. Every day he felt the great loss, yes, but also the greatest gain._

"_Your friends need you to fight the Ori."_

"_**The Ancients**__ need me," Daniel thought._

"_Yes," there could be no deceit here. "We need you. And the people of Hosta need you. Will you help them? For me?"_

_A startling tumult of images and emotions exploded through him, memories that were not his own, splashed with the blood of thousands._

"_Mitchell?"_

"I've got a rhythm," Lam held the paddles against his chest for another moment, waiting to make sure that Daniel's heart wouldn't revert to the damaging arrhythmia. Her eyes met the general's over her patient for only a second before she dropped her head in the face of the cold accusation that met her there. "We've got to move him back to the infirmary, General," her personnel were already collecting equipment while they kept a close watch on Daniel's vital signs the old fashioned way. "His heart is beating again, but I've got to find out just how much damage has been done."

"Brain damage?" Jack bit off the words, watching Lam's people work on Daniel's unresponsive body. They'd done it again, pulled Daniel back from the edge, an edge he seemed to be able to find with his eyes closed. Cheated death, Ascension, whatever. Every time Jack wondered just how much of what made Daniel, Daniel, would make it back. He scrubbed one hand across his face. "What are we talking about here?"

Carolyn kept one hand on Daniel's wrist, the regular beat of his heart steadying her own. "I don't know." She owed the man the truth. Raising her bowed head she forced her gaze upwards. "The truth is, with those readings, he may never…"

"Mmnnmm." Daniel's head moved, and a sliver of blue became visible between his lashes.

"Daniel?" Jack leaned over him, one hand on his shoulder. "You still in there?" The shallow tone was more than habit between them – it was a lifeline thrown out to help each other make it back to normalcy. Another moan rocked the prone figure and Jack turned to the doctor.

"I don't know, sir," she placed one hand across Daniel's forehead, "there could be some residual pain from the memory device, but nothing this severe, nothing he should be able to feel through the coma." She glanced up at the nearest nurse. "Let's move him, now." Keeping her hands on her patient she looked up at the general. "Unless _he_ can tell us something," she jerked her head at Forsner who was still being restrained by the zealous sergeant.

Jack stood up and forced himself to stand still and watch them wheel Daniel through the doors and away from him. Give the doctors a chance, he told himself, pacing around the infirmary wasn't going to give him any answers. He turned towards the motionless figures behind him and nodded to Siler who took one step backwards, flipped the safety on the pistol and presented it grip-first to O'Neill.

"He's all yours, sir," Siler stated calmly, gathering the three armed SFs with a look and moving off towards the open door of the isolation room. Two stepped into the hallway and took up guard positions, while the other positioned himself with his back to the wall inside the door opposite Siler, his eyes quite clearly focused on anywhere that was not O'Neill and his prisoner. Siler touched one control and the heavy metal door slid closed.

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Thanks for your patience – and your comments!


	13. Chapter 13

**For those of you who have been following the story faithfully, thank you! Fear not – if these "Now" and "X Days Before" are confusing you, when our fearless explorers finally catch up with themselves (in 4 story "days"), all of the "Nows" will be repeated. And, thanks, again!**

_Now_

_It was the sounds that woke him - the rustling of soft fabric, the constant hum of large, smooth engines, the muffled voices – both loud and hushed at the same time. His brows furrowed even before he managed to climb back to consciousness. The sounds were wrong. He should be hearing rhythmic beeping, the quick click of heels across concrete floors, concerned voices speaking in low tones. Had they transferred him from the SGC infirmary to the Air Force hospital, or some rehab facility? Daniel tentatively moved his arms and legs under the warm blankets, expecting the usual aches and pains associated with recovery from an average SG-1 mission, and something told him this had been anything but an average mission. Nothing. No pain, no residual aches, not even any uncomfortable monitor wires or confining bandages. In fact, he felt great – relaxed, better than he had felt in years, as if some great worry or deep sorrow that he'd carried for some time had suddenly disappeared. What was it? His memories seemed to slide away from him – something about a sword, an order to stay behind, Morgan LeFay – they all blurred together. He stretched luxuriously. It didn't really matter._

_The ceiling came into focus slowly, the ornate gold carvings resolving into images of serpents curving and twining around each other, tails clenched in each others' teeth, some writhing in the throes of death, torn and ripped. Strange figures, lurid, shocking in their intensity, but also somehow moving, visceral and compelling. And he could see them clearly. Odd. One hand reached up to touch his face, expecting to come into contact with metal frames, but instead brushed against skin. The black sleeve caught his eye – not scrubs, not standard hospital issue, that's for sure. "What the…"_

_A soft sound issued from his left and he scrambled to sit up, to put himself into a less vulnerable position, his back against a wall. His heart pounded painfully in his chest as he took in his surroundings. Something was wrong with this room – it was too tall, for one thing – the ceiling so far above the floor. And the door to his left wasn't quite rectangular, narrower at the top than at the bottom. He'd been lying on some kind of couch or chaise padded in a soft red fabric that felt cool against his hands. The gold and red blanket that had been covering him had dropped to the carpeted floor when he sat up so abruptly and now made a garish puddle against the short black plush, soft against his bare feet. The sumptuous décor and the soft furnishings, the odd configurations and sounds – everything worked together to scrape against his nerves like broken chalk on a blackboard. Three light chimes sounded from the strange doorway – probably a repeat of the sounds that had so startled him in the first place. He swallowed, his throat remarkably dry, knowing without a doubt that whatever came through that door would not be pleasant._

_Daniel cast his gaze over the small chamber quickly. No weapons, no defensible positions, nothing familiar, just a small table holding a cut-glass pitcher and a few crystal goblets, the chaise, and him. Fine – nothing he could do then. The feeling of displacement had grown into annoyance. He let his muscles relax and he slumped back into a somewhat reclining position, eyes closed and heart rate slowing – it took too much energy to maintain any level of fear or fight. His right cheek pressed against the cushioned upholstery, he smiled. Let them come._

_He couldn't help opening his eyes when he heard the tell-tale 'swoosh' of a door sliding back. The sole figure that entered the small room was dressed in ornate robes of gold and brown that brushed the floor behind him. From Daniel's canted angle he couldn't quite make out the man's face, but the sardonic, accented voice touched a familiar place in his memories. Not a happy place._

"_Ah, I see you are finally awake. I certainly hope you are feeling better, Dr. Jackson."_

_Daniel could hear the smile in the voice, and the face of his host – thin, aristocratic, with a small goatee and dark, flashing eyes – leaped into his mind. He sighed and pushed himself back into a sitting position, leaning back against the cushions as he blinked up at the Goa'uld._

"_Ba'al?" Daniel's gaze raked the figure before him. Yes, he was easily recognizable as the System Lord that Daniel had first laid eyes on at the summit he'd attended six years ago, but he was thinner – much thinner – and something about his face was different as well – as if his image had a few jigsaw pieces turned around and pushed into the wrong places. The robes, the body language, the sparkle of amusement beneath dark brows – it all certainly fit his memories of the overweening arrogance of the former System Lord – but somehow on this person it all looked like a little brother's attempt to play dress up. One of the jigsaw pieces settled into place within Daniel's mind. "You're a clone."_

_The smile faltered slightly, but the bemused attitude returned quickly, this time seasoned with a hint of resentment. "Very observant, as always, Dr. Jackson." He swept further into the room and stopped at the table nearby, reaching down to pour something into each of the goblets there. He sipped from his own, his dark eyes meeting Daniel's as he did so, before offering the other. Daniel's dry throat itched for the liquid and he found himself reaching out a hand to accept the goblet before making the decision consciously. "Please," Ba'al smiled, "I know from experience how thirsty so many hours in the sarcophagus can make one."_

_The cup was already to Daniel's mouth when the words registered. He froze, frowning, a seed of panic sprouting somewhere in the back of his mind. In a moment his thirst won out and he let the water cut a cool, clear path through the parched tissue of his mouth and throat. He emptied the goblet completely before handing it back to the hovering Goa'uld._

"_Better?"_

"_Yes, thank you," he sighed._

"_Good." The quick smile flashed across the thin features again as he set the two cups back on the small table. Turning back to Daniel he crossed his arms over his chest in a familiar gesture, made a bit less imposing than usual by the thinness of his frame. "I find I must apologize for the," he shook his head briefly, "somewhat enthusiastic actions of my Jaffa on the planet. Believe me, their orders were merely to detain any humans they chanced to find among the population, not to treat you with any disrespect."_

_A brief memory of pain slid through Daniel's mind, but found no purchase there. He ran one hand across his forehead as he leaned forward on the couch, resting his forearms on his thighs. He raised his eyes to Ba'al's and shrugged uneasily._

"_Still a bit muddled, are you?" His white teeth shone in the dim lighting as he laughed, strangely pleased with Daniel's non-answer. "Nothing to worry about, I assure you. Your memories are all there, within your mind, it all takes a bit of getting used to, that's all."_

"_What does?" Daniel knew he should be more concerned about the Goa'uld's words, some token alarm bells were jangling in a dark corner deep inside, but they didn't seem important, and left him with only a feeling of mild curiosity._

"_The effects of the sarcophagus, of course." The smile took on an edge of gloating. "You were severely injured when we found your transponder signal and transported you here. A few more minutes and your Tauri friends would have returned only to collect your dead body." He enunciated the last two words precisely. "You might say," Ba'al paused, his demeanor suddenly more serious, "that you owe your life to me."_

_Daniel rose to his feet, a process that was achieved much more easily than he expected, and stood facing the Goa'uld, his posture reflecting his captor's, arms crossed across his chest. "Is that right?" Anger began to unfurl in his gut, making his blue eyes blaze. "For reviving me after your own Jaffa nearly killed me? Is that what I'm supposed to be grateful for?"_

_Ba'al's eyes narrowed as he assessed the man before him. "Look at you. Just twelve hours ago you were barely alive, but now you stand there, healthier than you have been in your entire short life, I'd wager, and actually challenging me." His eyes glinted with cruelty. "What do you suppose has changed?"_

"_Twelve hours?" Daniel had stopped listening after those words. That didn't seem right, but he couldn't figure out if it should have been a longer time, or a shorter one. Was it only that long ago that he'd been with Mitchell and Sam? Why was Jack O'Neill's face popping into his mind? Did it really matter?_

"_You wouldn't remember," the Goa'uld's voice was thick with a barely stifled malicious humor, "but after the third trip through the sarcophagus you stopped screaming. Pathetic, really."_

"_I see you got a full dose of Ba'al's delusions of superiority," Daniel snarled, "when you've died as many times as I have let me know how you feel about it." He felt a tightness in his chest now: three trips through the sarcophagus. Maybe more. The thought of the long gold coffin filled him with a sense of dread and exhilaration._

_Ba'al changed the subject abruptly. "I find it most interesting that, in all of my dealings with the Tauri of Earth, and with your highly regarded SG-1, that we – the two of us - have never actually stood within the same room." He moved, his hands behind his back, and walked to the opposite wall where he turned to face Daniel again, his head tipped to one side in thought. "That seems an odd coincidence, don't you think? I mean," he gestured widely with his arms, "I have spent quite a lot of time getting to know your teammates – some quite…intimately…you understand." The smile was feral this time. "But you have always somehow eluded me."_

_Daniel smirked. "Actually, we have." A heated satisfaction filled him at the look of confusion on Ba'al's face. "I stood not this far from you at the last summit of the System Lords when you voted to allow Anubis back into your ranks. Oh, well," he nodded his head a few times, "technically, that was Ba'al, long before you came into being, however that happened," he grimaced and shuddered dramatically at the thought, "but you know what I mean." He could almost see the thoughts race through the Goa'uld's mind. "That summit ended rather abruptly, didn't it?" He felt a little hint was only fair._

"_Yes," Ba'al finally hissed, a frown clouding his face. "Lord Yu's Lotar fled some confrontation between Osiris and his master an emergency escape pod. Everything basically went to hell from there." He cocked his head at Daniel. "You?"_

"_Nope. Not 'Yu,'" Daniel quipped, "me. I was Yu's Lotar." Ba'al smiled and nodded in admiration and Daniel's guts twisted again. "If I only knew then what I know now I could have slit your throat and saved the galaxy a whole load of crap."_

"_Yes, well," Ba'al's eyes glittered coldly, "twenty-twenty hindsight and all that. If Ba'al hadn't been so foolishly cautious during much of his dealings with Anubis and SG-1, if he had seized the opportunities before him, he would have been ruler of the System Lords long ago, and the galaxy would not now be under the threat of annihilation from the Ori." Bitterness stripped any amusement from the thin face now. "But," he leaned back against the wall and resumed his former stance, arms crossed, "as you so correctly stated the matter, Dr. Jackson, I've…changed a bit since then." A smile touched his eyes slightly. "But then, so have you."_

vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

4 days earlier

"Sir?"

"Carter?" Jack attempted to extricate himself from the blanket someone had draped over him while he dozed, slumped down in the infirmary chair. The damn thing was hopelessly tangled up with his legs while it seemed to be riding up under his backside at the same time. He gave it up as a bad job and sighed, his eyes going immediately to the silent figure draped over the bed next to him. Daniel hadn't moved in over twelve hours.

Sam stood on the other side of the bed, blue eyes looking down on their friend's still form, one hand holding onto Daniel's wrist. The number of times Jack had seen that exact gesture – too many to count. He ran a hand through his hair self-consciously.

"I half expected to find Vala camped out here." Sam kept her voice low, even though she was fairly sure that waking Daniel Jackson would take more than a few raised voices. She squeezed her eyes shut quickly. Coming back through the gate with Mitchell, she had felt such a sense of relief, knowing when she'd seen the medics huddled around him that they'd made it in time. It was the look on General Landry's face that had caused the bottom to drop out of her stomach. A familiar groan opened her eyes and brought a smile to her lips.

Jack finally won his battle with the blanket and rose slowly to his feet. "I had two SFs carry her to her quarters about three hours ago." He twisted to relieve the knots in his back. "She kept falling asleep and trying to climb into bed with him."

Sam nodded. Use of the Goa'uld healing device took a lot out of a normal human, and Vala had spent most of her remaining energy when they returned from Hosta making sure that Mitchell survived. She forced her gaze to move beyond Daniel to the monitors on either side of him. By that time, Daniel's EEG had reverted to a normal pattern, much to Carolyn Lam's surprised relief, even though the archeologist remained unconscious. "You should get some sleep, too, sir. Dr. Lam said there's no sign of brain damage now, and it's only a matter of time before he wakes up."

"'A matter of time,'" Jack repeated slowly, digging his hands into his pockets. "If I only had a nickel," he began. Frankly, he hadn't trusted any of the medicos that had been in and out of Cheyenne Mountain since Janet Frasier - he cut off that train of thought - even if Lam was Hank Landry's daughter and he had hired her himself. And the freak readings that had been coming from Daniel's brain since Dr. Forsner-stein got his hands on him didn't exactly reassure one extremely suspicious Air Force general.

As if she could still read his mind, Sam turned to face her former commanding officer. "How's Dr. Forsner?"

"Oh, he'll live to conspire another day," Jack's light tone carried with it the remnants of the rage he'd felt when the isolation room door slid back and he'd seen the maniac standing over Daniel's body. "Barrett took him back to NID headquarters in Washington. He's trying to round up Athena's conspirators before they get wind of his arrest."

"Not much of a chance of that is there," she smiled ruefully, guilt clouding her eyes.

"You never know, miracles have happened," Jack returned her look for a long moment. He wondered how many hours they'd logged between them in the infirmary, waiting to see if one of their friends – or each other - would live or die, one or both of them feeling that if they'd only reacted quicker or thought faster, the current tragedy could have been avoided. But telling Carter this situation wasn't her fault wouldn't do any good – it never did.

"I'm glad you got here when you did, sir."

"Yeah," it was Jack's turn to be rueful, "me too."

Sam turned to take a seat near Daniel's head, running one hand through her hair, still damp from her shower. Once SG-1 returned through the wormhole she'd spent the next eight hours dividing her time between Mitchell's and Daniel's bedsides, with time out for a sketchy report to General Landry and her own physical from Lam's thorough medics. She hadn't been surprised that Jack had been reluctant to leave Daniel's side even after Carolyn had ruled out the expected brain damage. She'd seen the readings the doctor had retrieved from Forsner's equipment, and she knew what Jack had witnessed first-hand - she was just relieved that the neurologist had been in one piece when Jack got through with him. Checking the monitors again, Sam felt herself relax for the first time in two days just watching the colors and lines that described the normal rhythms of the complex mind of her friend.

"What the hell happened, Carter?"

"Sir?" Her heart thudded in her chest at his words that so echoed her own bitter thoughts. Did he blame her for leaving Daniel in Forsner's hands? He should – she blamed herself. She remembered the scientific curiosity she'd felt when Carolyn had shown her some of Forsner's initial work with the Tok'ra memory device. Sam squared her shoulders and raised her head, ready to accept whatever Jack had to say. His perplexed expression startled her.

It was still effortless to read the play of thoughts across Sam's expressive face, but Jack merely nodded at the medical file Sam clutched unconsciously in one hand. "I'm talking about Daniel's brain scan. One minute Lam was telling me that his brain was toast, the next she's got him hooked up half-way to Sunday and his brain is completely normal – as if his brain was ever normal in the first place." C'mon, Carter, get past it. There was plenty of blame to spread around on this one.

Shuffling through the charts and readings in her hand, Sam shifted gears. "Dr. Forsner was looking for something – not specific memories like Athena was searching for in Vala's mind, but a particular brain pattern. He thought he could trigger it by guiding Daniel to memories of his Ascension, using the Tok'ra memory device which he'd modified to enhance those memories, make them more real, more vivid."

"Kinda like _Sensaround_," O'Neill interjected.

"Yes, sir, kinda like that," Sam agreed. "While those memories didn't get the reaction he was looking for, they did lead him down another theoretical pathway: since the memories Daniel was recalling were very painful ones," she stopped, swallowing, imagining the horrible images and feelings that had swept through Daniel's mind.

Jack shifted his feet noisily against the concrete floor. "Carter."

Sam frowned down at the papers blurring in her vision. "Since the memories were painful, Daniel's mind did something, well, unique." She fought through the empathy for her long-time friend and teammate and concentrated on the science, bringing the readings back into focus.

"Unique, you say," Jack leaned back, a slight smile jerking up one corner of his mouth. "Why am I not surprised."

"It seems that, with enough external or internal stimulation – Forsner was using both the memories themselves and an electrical current that hooked in directly to Daniel's brain through that implant – Daniel's brain works to protect itself by, well, I guess you could describe it as 'going dark,' sir."

Jack's brows rose. "Stealth mode? 'Run Silent, Run Deep?'"

She nodded and traced a sharp drop in electrical activity on one brain scan with her finger. "At some point, Daniel's consciousness retreats behind some kind of self-imposed barrier which makes it look like all higher level brain functioning has stopped – that's why Dr. Lam was so sure that there was such a devastating amount of brain damage. A few hours later," she held the folder out over Daniel's unconscious form for Jack to see how the EEG readings rose steadily, "brain function begins to register again, and slowly, over the course of 50 to 90 minutes, returns to Daniel's normal reading."

"And this is what Forsner was looking for? Daniel Jackson's innate ability to _hide_?"

"It's more than that, sir," Sam closed the folder with a sigh. "Whether or not Daniel always had this ability or only acquired it after his Ascension and return to human form, it does explain how he could keep certain facts from Adria and from my Replicator double. His brain is different from yours and mine."

"Again I say, 'surprise, surprise.'" Jack looked down at the unconscious figure. "Bottom line, Carter."

Eyes raised to her former commanding officer, Sam felt a sense of comfort and familiarity wash over her – something that she'd so missed during these past few years. If Teal'c were here, this could have been a scene from any mission wrap-up when SG-1 ran like a well-oiled machine. "Bottom line, sir, Daniel has a built-in Anti-Prior Device. It would take something pretty powerful to overwhelm his consciousness."

"So, good for him. But no WMDs against the Ori in there for us."

"No, sir."

Jack interlaced his fingers behind his neck and grimaced, stretching out shoulders that still ached after his uncomfortable doze in the infirmary chair-slash-torture device. "And all of us brilliant scientists are agreed that he's gonna wake up with nothing more than a bad headache and some significant caffeine withdrawal?"

"That's the theory, sir."

Twisting his face in response, Jack turned to a table of equipment arrayed against the wall nearby and began fidgeting with whatever he found there. "Easy on the 'sirs,' Carter," he whined, "there's nobody here but us chickens."

The relief was evident in his voice and body language, and Sam smiled, watching him, and hoping that the medical personnel had removed anything fragile or potentially harmful from within arm's reach of the restless general. And hoping that she and Carolyn were right. She dropped her head and rubbed her own stiff muscles with one hand. Time to wake up and prove her right, Daniel.

"Hey, I've got an idea," Jack turned back to face her. "How about dinner, or is it breakfast? I got used to windows in the Pentagon…"

"Not hungry," the mumbled response came from the direction of the infirmary bed. Sam and Jack froze, staring at each other before they each moved towards opposite sides of the stirring figure.

"Daniel?" She put a hand on his shoulder.

"…thirsty…" His head rolled towards Sam's voice, and his eyelids fluttered, but remained closed.

Jack looked around the curtained area. "What do you say we get a doctor over here?"

A frown deepened along Daniel's forehead. "Mitchell. Where's Mitchell?" His words slurred together as he became more agitated, his arms shifting across his body, and his head rocking from side to side.

Jack moved to pin down the arm on his side of the bed – the one connected to an IV – and put one hand on the top of Daniel's head. "Hey, there, Danny boy, take it easy." He met Sam's gaze across Daniel's twisting frame. "Did he just call me Mitchell?" The sheer incredulity in the question coupled with Daniel's move towards consciousness almost made Sam laugh.

An alarm on one of Daniel's monitors began to sound, loud and persistent, and a few seconds later Dr. Carolyn Lam and two nurses pushed through the curtains to Daniel's side. Brushing Carter out of the way, she glanced at the monitors, one hand on Daniel's chest, leaning over him. "Dr. Jackson, open your eyes. Can you open your eyes, Dr. Jackson?" Watching Daniel struggle feebly against the hands holding him, she turned towards a nurse. "You'd better prepare a sedative, 5 mg."

"A sedative? He's been unconscious for the better part of the day already," Jack argued.

"But we can't risk prolonged hypertension, General, not considering his recent medical trauma." Careful not to meet the general's gaze, Lam's quick rejoinder carried more of a sting than usual. They'd all be second guessing every one of her decisions for some time to come after this fiasco, deservedly so, but she couldn't afford to second guess herself. She held out one hand for the syringe from her nurse.

"You've got to let him wake up, dammit!" Jack held on tightly against his friend's increasing strength, trying to keep him still without hurting him.

Dr. Lam hesitated. Daniel's blood pressure was still climbing. "I'm sorry, General."

"Daniel, for crying out loud!"

His struggles stopped as suddenly as they had begun, and Daniel's eyes flew open. "Jack?"

O'Neill held on for another moment, dark eyes searching for an answer in the befuddled blue ones of his friend. Pushing himself upright, he blew out his breath in relief and patted Daniel on the shoulder. "Yeah, Daniel, it's me."

Blue eyes closed tightly, but opened again before anyone could react. "Dreaming," he muttered, groggy and unfocused.

"No, Dr. Jackson, you aren't dreaming, stay with us, please," Carolyn placed the syringe on the bedside table and plucked her penlight from the pocket of her lab coat. She gently tilted his head to the side and pulled up one eyelid at a time, flashing the light into his pupils. "How do you feel?"

Daniel cleared his throat and blinked slowly. "Thirsty," he sighed and turned his head away from the light to find Jack standing there, holding a cup of water. "Jack?"

"Still here," Jack smiled, "just waiting for you to show up."

"Where've I been?" Daniel frowned and glanced at the faces hovering over him. He groaned, but a spark of annoyance flared within his eyes. "Not dead again."

Sam laughed and moved closer, neatly displacing a nurse, and leaned over to touch his arm. "Not this time – not quite."

"Sounds like a story," Daniel commented, blinking a few more cobwebs from his mind.

"And a good one," Jack quipped, handing the water to Lam so she could place the straw in Daniel's mouth. "On the Daniel Jackson scale of destruction, I give it a solid eight."

"An eight, sir? I don't know. You only gave his injuries from the rock-slide a seven-point-five."

"Any landing you can walk away from, Colonel."

"Okay," Carolyn intervened, holding up one hand to keep Carter from continuing the bizarre argument. "Why don't you two go down and visit my other patient for a few minutes while I give Dr. Jackson a once-over. I'll let you know when I'm finished. Maybe," she added under her breath.

The two shared a look before turning to follow her orders, each one, Carolyn noticed, making a point to touch Daniel before they moved off. She wondered if it was meant to reassure him of their swift return, or to reassure themselves that Daniel Jackson was still among the living.

"Wait, what other patient?" Daniel tried to get his hands underneath him to push up to a sitting position, focusing past Lam on Sam and Jack near the door, while Carolyn kept one hand on his shoulder to hold him down. "It's Mitchell, isn't it?"

"How could you know…" Dr. Lam began.

"Please, just tell me," the agitation was back, and Jack stepped quickly to Daniel's side. "Is he okay?"

"He's fine," Jack said firmly, pushing the patient flat. "None the worse for wear for losing a few pints of blood, but he's already gotten a refill and he'll be back on his feet in no time." Seeing the doubt radiating from his stubborn friend's face, Jack rolled his eyes. "Really. Vala glowed him up with that Goa'uld doohickey and he's climbing the walls trying to get out of here."

"It's true, Dr. Jackson, I'm just keeping him here overnight for observation," Carolyn added. "You need to relax."

"Relax," Jack punctuated his advice with a pointed finger. "Take a load off. Loosen up. And, if you're good, and if Carter doesn't eat it all, I'll bring you some nice blue jello from the commissary." He moved off towards the exit, grabbing Sam by one elbow to escort her from the exam room as Lam plunged a thermometer into Daniel's mouth.

Grabbing it out, Daniel called after them. "The hell with the jello, bring coffee!"


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen

Daniel let the stills slip through his fingers to fall onto his lap. He should be used to it; he'd seen it enough just in the cultures he'd studied here on Earth, let alone the thousands of others throughout the galaxy, to know that contexts could be lost, meanings hopelessly corrupted, and language itself shifted within only a few generations. Put that together with the severing of a group of people from their homes, their isolation on an alien planet, and interference from supposedly benign Ascended beings and it was no wonder that the people in Hosta had managed to re-invent a ritual that skidded across the truth to land directly in the center of madness. He didn't blame them – no, he'd seen far worse: the Cennarans of P8X-334 and their 'coming of age' ceremony, the hill people of Turnan's monthly ritual to bring the moon back to life, and far more human civilizations in Earth's own past who were willing to sacrifice their friends and neighbors to ensure their own survival. No, his blame was for Merlin and Morgan, Moros and Ganos Lal, whatever they were called wherever they were. And to think he had actually felt sorry for her in Atlantis when the Others had pulled her away, had wasted any small part of his life worrying about the fate of an Ascended Being. He should know better. Between the two of them, they had managed to screw the Hostans royally. He leaned back against the pillows he'd appropriated from the empty beds nearby and closed his eyes. As soon as he'd heard the name they'd adopted for their village he should have known: Hosta – a form of the Ancient word _hastia_, meaning victim. An entire village of victims.

He shook his head, even more annoyed with himself. He could feel the familiar euphoria of the chase mounting behind the fatigue and residual pain from his trip through Forsner's Wonderland. He might be able to fake apathy for a while, give his research into all things Ancient the metaphorical 'silent treatment,' but it wouldn't last. Nope. He was Daniel Jackson, eternal sap to his own rampant curiosity - glutton for punishment. And this was just too important. Isn't that what Mitchell had said to convince General Landry that the team should go to P2L-688 without him? The chance to bring back information about the Ancients was worth any risk, any means, any sacrifice, physical or otherwise. He'd heard through the infirmary grapevine that Mitchell had been released this morning, pronounced fully recovered, and put on stand-down for 48 hours. Daniel had hoped to see him – and hoped to avoid him. He snatched off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose to try to quell the persistent headache that was not made any better with the addition of some internal conflict.

Daniel had been here before – the familiar treadmill of guilt and blame – he'd worn some pretty deep grooves in the tracks during his life. If he hadn't been so caught up in his own anger at the oh-so-typical military philosophy of 'what you don't understand is to be feared' he might have been able to talk himself onto the mission with the team. He'd done it before - many, many times before if memory served. This time…this time his heart just hadn't been in it. And Mitchell nearly died. His mouth quirked. Always an endless supply of guilt to be had at the SGC. You'd think if he could have learned one thing from Jack O'Neill over the past ten years it would have been how to put his own feelings about his inadequacies, and their consequences, into some deep recess in his mind and bury them. But no, he had to learn inappropriate sarcasm instead. The shuffling of boots against the concrete floor brought his head up. Mitchell had taken a few steps into the room, a look of concern on his face, which was still on the pale side, before Daniel noticed him.

"Dr. Lam know you're working?"

Daniel blinked at the blurry figure standing inside the open doorway opposite his bed, hands shoved deeply into the pockets of his blue BDUs. He put his glasses back on and shifted to a more upright position. "Hey, you feeling better?" Daniel kept his tone light while the voices inside his head continued their chorus of 'you should have known' that they'd started sometime in the middle of the night.

Mitchell smiled and pulled his hands out of his pockets, turning his arms back and forth to display the absence of any sign of his injuries. "Not even any souvenir scarring to show off to the grandkids," he quipped. "I gotta say that having access to the power of the Goa'uld healing gizmo almost makes putting up with one female space-pirate worth it."

"Almost," Daniel grinned quickly. He placed his pen in his notebook to save his page, closed it and set it on the bedside table he'd covered with books, references, and the rest of the information the team had brought back from P2L-688. "Although her experience does come in handy when one needs to smuggle things past over-protective medical types."

"I see that," Cam nodded. His careful gaze had already noted the monitors still glued to Jackson's chest, and the wires and tubes that continued to connect him to Lam's monitors. When Mitchell had opened his eyes in the infirmary yesterday afternoon, vague memories of pain and confusion the only leftovers from the infamous Hostan Tegera, he'd assumed, at first, that Vala's pinched expression had been because of his injuries, and her efforts to heal him. He had to give it to them: the medics and the rest of his team did a pretty good job distracting him with questions, tests, and needles, but it didn't take long to realize that something was wrong. The concerned faces and nervous glances shot between Teal'c, Landry, and Sam, and the absence of one mocking, bespectacled archaeologist checking in had been enough to send him flying off the bed – that is, it would have if one fast-acting Jaffa hadn't been there to pin him down. He reached up to feel the bruise on his sternum. If it hadn't been for the blood loss, he could have taken him. Between Sam's reassurances and Landry's orders, not to mention a little something Lam slipped into his IV, they'd managed to keep him stationary until they'd crammed three pints of blood into him, but seeing Jackson alive and awake – and _himself_ – with his own eyes finally released the band of tightness that had clamped around his chest.

"So," Mitchell began, standing at his teammate's bedside, hands on his hips. They'd both lived through another one. But this time – it could have been, it _should_ have been, so much worse. Good of the planet, good of the team – when had it become so hard to balance the two? Looking out for the individuals who made up SG-1, the brilliant group that had saved the planet so many times before he came along for the ride, was part of his job, his bigger job, of looking out for the planet, wasn't it? How the hell could he have divorced one from the other? He couldn't blame it on curiosity about Jackson's Ascension, face it, he'd been dying - almost literally as it turned out - to prove that he didn't need the guy to interact with an alien civilization. Knowing what Jackson had undergone at Forsner's hands, dammit, his _heart _had stopped, yeah; it cut one Air Force colonel down to size. Suddenly the air in the infirmary seemed stifling, stagnant, weighed down with regrets and guilt. He saw his own perceptions mirrored in the narrowed blue eyes behind the ever-present glasses on Jackson's face.

"So," Daniel echoed.

"Oh, for crying out loud."

Mitchell turned and Daniel leaned forward, craning his neck to get a look around him.

"Jack?"

"General?"

Arms crossed, casually leaning against one side of the open doorway, O'Neill's gaze begged the heavens for wisdom. He lurched forward, dark eyes flitting between Mitchell's quick 'attention' and Daniel's restrained irritation. Waving one hand to release Mitchell from military protocol, he took a position at the foot of the infirmary bed. "Let me see if I can uncork this and get your little mutual guilt-fest started for you," he fluttered one hand in front of him, encompassing both men in the gesture.

"…and 'up jumps the devil,'" Daniel started, but Jack held up one finger.

"Ah!"

Glancing towards the archeologist, Mitchell watched him close his eyes as if in patient surrender to whatever the general was doing. "Sir?" he tried.

"I mean it!" Jack pointed the finger at Mitchell this time. Daniel looked over at him and shook his head, sending a clear message – 'don't even try.'

"Mitchell, let's start with you," O'Neill snapped. "New leader of SG-1, you get the 'band back together' to promptly leave one of your men here," the finger pointed to Daniel but seemed to take in the infirmary, the SGC, and the entire situation, "to the care and comfort of one of the idiots from Area-51, knowing full well that the aforesaid 'man,'" he punctuated the phrase with another point of the finger, "never heard of the term 'self-preservation' and is known for not being able to stop himself from falling on a live grenade, even if no one else is in the room." He turned the fierce black gaze fully onto Mitchell, all kidding suddenly aside. "Did you think the phrase, 'leave no man behind' only referred to off-world situations? Even with your minimal time here, you have enough military experience to know that friendly-fire is just as fatal as enemy fire."

"Jack, that's not…"

O'Neill turned on Daniel so quickly that he recoiled in alarm. "Case in point," he enunciated. "Oh, I'll get to you in a minute, don't you worry, Danny-boy." His eyes narrowed and Jack took a step towards the rigid form of Cameron Mitchell. "So you got some orders that you didn't like," he lowered his voice to an impersonation of sympathy. "And you put up a token resistance, argued a bit, but tell me you weren't just a little bit satisfied, deep down inside, that this guy," he jabbed a thumb at Daniel over his shoulder, "would not be second-guessing you on just one mission. That just once you'd get to run point with a new bunch of aliens without 'Mr. Expert on Everything' pointing out your mistakes."

Mitchell's jaws clenched. "I never…"

"No, you never let yourself actually think it, but it was there," O'Neill nodded, "believe me, I know," he smiled. "Eight years," he whispered, shifting his eyes towards Daniel's bed. He leaned away from Mitchell and took his place back at the end of the bed. "And that's why you're all twisted up, coulda, shoulda, woulda, aren't you?"

Mitchell crossed his arms over his chest in such a typical Daniel Jackson move of self-protection that Jack couldn't help an inward smile, but he kept any amusement from showing on his face. It was "General O'Neill" time, and Mitchell had to learn that the position of leader of SG-1 came with enough crap that you could wallow comfortably in it for years, if you let yourself. "Let me give you a clue: you're human, and you're gonna screw up sometimes. This was one of those times." He went on quickly, before either Mitchell or Daniel could interrupt. "Yeah, orders can suck and shit can happen, but you have to learn how to put it behind you. Apologize. Get over it. Your people are in the direct line of fire, and sometimes, they're gonna get hurt."

"Jack, you're so far out of line…" Daniel's voice was tight with effort, his eyes blazing.

"No," Mitchell interrupted. "He's right." He maintained eye contact with O'Neill, his face a mask of military stoicism. "My command, my decision, my responsibility."

"Hell, yeah," O'Neill nodded, relieved that Mitchell had stepped back from the guilt, for now, hidden it away to be chewed over when the enemy wasn't so damn close to the gate. Oh, he could tell him stories, as long as they were accompanied by lots and lots of alcohol. He brought his gaze back to Daniel, raising one eyebrow at the animosity in his friend's features. "It's something they teach you in Colonel School, Daniel," he sneered, knowing that he was just adding fuel to fire his anger, but angry-Daniel was better than guilty, self-blaming-Daniel any day of the week.

"You sanctimonious…"

"Hey, you want him to feel guilty?" Jack shot at him. "Think it would be good for his ego? Teach him a lesson?"

That did it. Daniel's eyes widened in alarm. "No! What the…Jack!" He flicked his gaze rapidly between Mitchell's stiff figure and Jack's curious expression. Sighing, he closed his eyes and leaned back again. "And here I was hoping I'd be unconscious for the lecture part of this visit," he murmured, low and bitter. He felt a couple of pats on his right foot on top of the infirmary blanket and reluctantly opened his eyes, focusing with difficulty on the earnest face of Jack O'Neill.

"Sorry, Danny." He blamed many of his grey hairs on his self-imposed job of bringing Daniel Jackson's focus back from that proverbial black pit that always seemed to be yawning close to the younger man's feet. That veneer of "tough" that the archaeologist had put on recently had been welcome, and painfully earned, but Jack knew that the same baggage full of self-doubts and recriminations Daniel had taken with him to Abydos had come right back with him, with some added souvenirs, were all still there, waiting for an opportunity to spring on his unsuspecting ego. Yeah, he'd been determined to start off with his new commander a different person – long hair, quick smile, and eagerness replaced with hard-won experience and confidence. He almost didn't recognize him – almost. Then he looked closer.

"So…what?" Daniel started, headache causing him to narrow his eyes. Well, maybe it wasn't just the headache. "Can we just get this over with so I can go back to sleep?"

"Sleep, _right_," Jack's broad sarcasm as he looked pointedly at the books and papers strewn over Daniel's bed drew an agreeing snort from Mitchell. "'Throwing ourselves into our work,'" Jack made air quotation marks to emphasize his words, "is the standard Daniel Jackson response when he's about to choke himself on second-guesses. Yes, Daniel, you should have known Mitchell couldn't handle a mission to meet people associated with the Ancients, however loosely, without you." He was picking up steam again. "Instead of knuckling under to the IOA and their insane plans, you should have fought harder, stood up for yourself, not gone off to sulk in your office."

"I wasn't…"

"Oh, yes, you were sulking, admit it," Jack pounced. "And then, _then_," he raised both hands to his sides, "you actually went off alone with Dr. Frank-N-Furter and let him screw with your brain! What were you thinking?"

"I wasn't…"

"Oh," Jack nodded with a snide grin, "believe me, I know."

Daniel bit back a quick retort, his jaw clenched. It just had to be Jack who swooped in and saved the day, didn't it? Someone who knew exactly what to say to cut through his standard defenses and put him back in his place on the SGC ladder. Resentment and gratitude – such a thin line divided those two. For a long moment the two concepts struggled for ascendance in his mind. If he'd made it to P2L-688 nobody would have needed saving this time.

"Don't."

Daniel frowned. Now Jack seemed genuinely angry.

"Get it into perspective, Daniel," Jack growled. "You both made mistakes. You both got hurt. But neither of you is ultimately to blame. This crapfest sits squarely on the shoulders of the IOA."

Cameron turned to face Daniel, back turned slightly to the Major General and head of Homeworld Security, as if to try to secure a scrap of privacy. Daniel hitched his weight on the infirmary bed, raising one knee to block out the black-clad figure still standing at his feet. Jack was right about one thing – they didn't have time for this. Mitchell's hands were back in his pockets. Daniel adjusted his glasses.

"I heard you found something fascinating in the pretty pictures your girlfriend brought back," Mitchell asked evenly.

Daniel snorted. "Funny. But yes, Landry's scheduled a briefing for 10:00 tomorrow."

"Sounds good. You gonna be sprung by then?"

"One way or another," Daniel smiled scornfully.

"You know something about this place that I don't? Secret passage, code phrase, walk through walls device?" Mitchell waved his arms at the substantial concrete around them.

"Years of experience," Daniel drawled, ignoring the eye-roll he could feel coming from the end of the bed.

Mitchell walked to the door before turning back to eye the archaeologist. "'Danny?'"

"Don't try it."

His shrug claimed that it was worth a try. "So, we good?"

"Yep," Daniel smiled before lying back against the pillows. A few minutes later he looked down at the figure still haunting his bedside. "Jack?"

"Still here, Daniel."

"Thanks, Jack." Seems gratitude won. This time.

Jack O'Neill moved slowly, lowering himself into a seat at Daniel's side. "You're pretty good at fooling him, you know?"

"I wish you'd make up your mind, Jack," Daniel blinked, one hand reaching up to try to massage the headache deeper behind his eyes. "I'm either an unthinking adolescent trying to prove that the world can't get along without me, or, what, a clever manipulating genius." He could feel exhaustion pulling at him, making his words sound clipped and callous.

"He may be over this, for now, Daniel, but you're not. Guilt is your middle name."

Daniel brought his blue gaze to rest on Jack's concerned face. "_Q__uod se Judice nemo nocens absolvitur." _After a moment he smiled. "It means, '_No one who is guilty is acquitted at the judgment seat of his own conscience.'"_

"Said, no doubt, by some famous dead guy," Jack observed caustically. When Daniel nodded wearily, he reached up and ruffled his hair. "As Homer Simpson said, 'If he's so smart, how come he's dead?'"

"Jack."

"Daniel."

"I'm fine. Go do 'General' stuff."

"'General' stuff?" Jack stood up, not convinced that Daniel wouldn't continue to beat himself up over this last in a long line of personal disasters, but certain that nothing else he said right now would matter. "Sounds boring. Rescue ops are a lot more fun." Daniel would figure it all out, eventually. He always did.

"Glad I could help out, then," the archaeologist's eyes closed.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen

The scene through his office window was a familiar one. He'd watched them trickle into the briefing room in ones and twos, position themselves in the black leather chairs around the wooden table, or stand a moment at the window looking down on the Stargate, smiling, joking. Current crisis behind them, ready for the next. Bring it on. Over the slouching figure of General Jack O'Neill, Hank Landry took in the sight and smiled to himself. George Hammond had been right: these people, this front-line team, were extraordinary men and women.

Interrupting the steady flow of chatter from O'Neill on the spiritual quality of fishing in Minnesota, Landry's curiosity got the best of him. "Do you miss it, Jack?"

He watched Jack's mouth snap shut, but the dark eyes were as sharp as ever. Jack adjusted his position in the familiar chair and turned, following Landry's gaze. When he turned back he made sure his air of casual carelessness was safely in place again. "What, mortal peril for breakfast? Sand in my shorts? The melodious sounds of 'Jaffa- Kree!'" He smiled briefly. "Or are you talking about your job – dealing with Monday-morning-quarterbacking bureaucrats with their heads up their asses? Waiting here with no one but Walter to keep me company to see if my best friends are going to make it home in one piece this time?"

Landry cocked his head and raised his eyebrows. "C'mon, Jack, you're still doing my job, just farther away. You're up-to-date on all missions, pre-briefing, post-mortem, almost as soon as I am. And, face it, you jumped at the chance to get back here and get into the mix when I called." He opened his hands atop his desk. "Be honest – you never really left this team behind, did you?"

"Well it's not like anyone ever lets me," Jack complained loudly. "I'm not gone five minutes before Daniel gets his brain beamed to another galaxy to make sure we've got a brand-spankin' new uber-enemy to fight just when everything starts looking calm for the first time in eight loooong years, not to mention a pesky world pandemic, the demon spawn of Anubis, and Ori-bugs who try to eat the IOA delegates – not that that is necessarily a bad thing." Jack flashed Landry a mocking smile. "Oh, the Joint Chiefs just love it when my number comes up on their caller ID, Hank, let me tell you."

"Jack," Landry drawled, his own smile warm.

O'Neill stood and turned back to look out on his team. His team. Sam, Teal'c, Daniel. No, Hank was right. That was never going to change. And Mitchell – he'd left Mitchell holding the bag, the empty bag, when he and Hank had given him command of SG-1. Mitchell had gotten them back together with no help from him whatsoever, and had managed to forge them into a unit. The interaction was different, the dynamics had changed, but Jack knew that the change had been necessary. It had been time for him to go. He felt Landry's presence at his side.

"This threat, Hank," Jack sighed, all amusement gone from his voice now, "this 'crusade.' Daniel's right. We need to find Merlin's weapon. All of the fire-power we've acquired over the past ten years, everything we've learned from fighting the Goa'uld, it's about as effectual as throwing rocks." He nodded at the team seated around the table. "There's a lot on their shoulders."

Landry agreed. "The stress is starting to show the cracks in their armor, Jack, but they're tough."

"It's not going to get better any time soon."

"Well you know most of them better than I do, Jack, what do you think? Are they up to it?"

He watched Vala reach over Daniel's shoulder and try to snatch a book from the top of his pile, and Daniel smack one hand down with a glare to stop her. He smiled grimly. "If they aren't, God help the rest of us."

"Have a little faith, Jack," Landry smiled after a moment. "You taught them well. Now," he moved towards the door, "we'd better get out there or Dr. Jackson will start flipping through slides and talking too fast without us," Landry quipped, watching the archaeologist shuffle through his notes while sneaking glances at the closed office door.

Jack sighed. "Yeah, that would be shame."

The reports were distributed, the lights were lowered, and Daniel, released from the infirmary with firm direction to 'remain seated and avoid excitement,' led the group through a crash course in Hostan culture.

"Yep, got the whole blood fetish, Jackson," Mitchell remarked, turning the pages in the folder in front of him. "Had a ringside seat for that one."

"Okay, putting together the influence of the Ancients," Daniel held up one finger at a time to count off his points, "and a focus on the importance of blood, or the blood of a certain class…

"Oh! I know this!" Vala sat forward in her chair, her eyes wide with enthusiasm. "The Sangraal! Didn't you say that was called the Bloodstone or something, Daniel?"

Shocked into silence, Daniel, and each of the others, turned to Vala in surprise.

She looked from face to face, "What? He yammers on about it day and night, I do listen to what he says sometimes."

"Day and night, huh?" Jack almost whispered, earning Daniel's best glare.

"You believe the Hostans have the Sangraal, Daniel Jackson?" Teal'c brought the discussion back to the point, and Daniel nodded gratefully.

"Ah, no, but I believe there is a connection," he said quickly.

"What connection? I mean, I was in that temple, and you guys were in the village," Mitchell swept the rest of SG-1 with a glance, "and I didn't see any sign of any red jewel, just a bunch of stories about a lady and some lightning."

"The word itself shows us the connection," the SGC's linguist explained, meeting Mitchell's eyes across the table. "Remember when we first realized there was a link between the Ancients and legendary figure of Merlin? And we talked about the various theories about the Sangraal? Some said it was the grail, or dish, Christ used at the Last Supper, or the cup in which his blood was caught at the cross," he was warming up to his story now, and stood, pacing along the front of the briefing room before the screen. "Other legends described it as a meteor or some other heavenly object that fell to Earth at Arthur's birth to announce his royal bloodline, but either way, it was always linked with blood. The name itself caused some of the confusion." Daniel grabbed a legal pad from the briefing room table and wrote it out in block lettering. "Look. If you parse the words one way, you have 'san greal,' meaning 'Holy Grail.' But, if you simply move one letter like this," he wrote again, then flipped the pad around so that the others could see it, "you have 'sang real' meaning 'Royal Blood.' That's how the two different identities for the Sangraal came into existence. One letter." He dropped the pad and marker back onto the table and leaned heavily against it, lowering his head for a moment against the headache that still threatened.

Sam put one hand out towards her teammate, a look of concern on her face. "Daniel."

He held up one hand to interrupt her and smiled quickly at the group. "I'm…okay," he said, changing the wording of his statement at the last minute. He made his way back to his seat without complaint and dropped into it, closing his eyes and leaning back against the cushions.

"So the Hostans built this nasty little ritual around blood because of Merlin's influence?" General Landry hoped he wasn't the only one who wasn't following Dr. Jackson's logic at the moment.

Daniel groaned. "I'm sorry, there's just so much to explain," he muttered in frustration. He raised his head when Vala reached over and patted him on the arm. Jack and Sam exchanged worried glances, each wondering if allowing Daniel out of the infirmary this quickly was such a good idea after all.

"Do you believe Merlin brought the Hostans to this world through the Stargate, Daniel Jackson?" Teal'c asked, curious.

"No. Not Merlin," Daniel replied. He shot a glance at General O'Neill, and Jack realized he was asking for his help. "Look, can you guys just listen while I try to get through this? I'm sorry, I know it's confusing," his laugh was more about his own frustration than any actual amusement at the situation, "but it makes sense if you'd hear me out. The stories are finally beginning to come together."

Jack leaned back in his chair, willing himself to express confidence and patience. "We're listening, Daniel," he assured his friend, "just take your time and tell us a story. Make it a good one," he added abruptly.

"It's hard to know where to begin," Daniel smiled ruefully at Jack.

"'Once upon a time'," Mitchell added quietly, his eyes glinting, echoing one of the first conversations he had with the archaeologist.

"According to legend" Daniel began again, after a moment, leaning forwards, arms resting on the conference table, "Arthur pulled a sword from a stone to confirm his royalty." His gaze went to Mitchell briefly. "The royal bloodline had to be maintained in order to secure stability in the medieval society. After that sword broke, another sword was given to Arthur by the Lady of the Lake. In later years, largely because of the popular French work, _Le Morte de Arthur_, the sword was given a name that we all recognize, Excalibur, but it was originally named in Welsh, Arthur's own language, _Caladfwlch_, a word derived from _Calad-Bolg, _which, translated literally, means 'Hard Lightning'."

The reaction around the table was immediate.

"Lightning? That sounds an awful lot like the 'cold lightning' the Hostan villagers kept describing," Vala observed.

"Yes," Daniel raised one hand to stave off any more outbursts, "that's what first started me down this chain of thought. Now, couple that with the notion that the Lady of the Lake, Nimue, was often thought to be either the same as, or related to Arthur's half-sister, Morgan Le Fay and you'll see how the Earth legends of Arthur's Court and the Hostan legends parallel each other."

"The Lady, the one from the story on the walls of the temple garden, is Morgan Le Fay?" It was more of a statement than a question, but Daniel nodded to Mitchell in response.

"There is also a story from Geoffrey's _Historia regum Britanniae _thattells the tale of an incident in Merlin's life where, sickened and despairing of the bloodshed around him, and the horrors of the battlefield, Merlin goes mad and runs off to the forest. The tale is called the _Wild Man of the Woods_."

"Holy…"

Before anyone else could interrupt, he went on. "We've been searching for the Sangraal, but never, in all of the Arthurian lore from the first story recorded in the _Black Book of Carmarthen_, was the Sangraal ever described as a weapon. The weapon most associated with Merlin and King Arthur was the sword, Excalibur. Now the Lady of the Lake also gave Arthur a scabbard with the sword, a scabbard that she told him was almost more important than the sword itself because as long as Arthur had this scabbard in his possession, any wounds he received _would not bleed_." He took a breath and noticed that every eye in the briefing room was now on him, and they were listening, really listening. "The word scabbard is akin to the Middle English word _birien _which means to protect or preserve, and from which we derive our English word, bury. The Ancient word for bury, or burial, is _Tegere._"

"The Hostan legend of the Wild Man who stole the lightning and had to be stopped by the Lady must refer to Merlin, who made a weapon based on his Ascended knowledge – what we've been referring to as the Sangraal, but may, in fact, be Excalibur – and was stopped by Morgan Le Fay before he could use it. In legend, Arthur's scabbard was stolen from him by Morgan and given to her lover, and, because he no longer had the scabbard, Arthur died from his wounds at the battle of Salisbury Plain. Surely," he let his gaze jump from Sam to Mitchell to Teal'c, "it is more than a coincidence that these people, brought to this remote planet by the Lady – Morgan - have created a ritual that involves bleeding, and that is named after Arthur's scabbard which magically controlled bleeding. A scabbard that served to protect the most famous weapon of the Arthurian period, Excalibur."

"Oy, I wish I'd paid closer attention at the movies," General O'Neill grumbled. He knew that look on Daniel's face – the Merlin legend was coming to life before his eyes and he was desperate to dig to the bottom of it. Jack smirked to himself. That's what archaeologist's did best after all – dig.

"Daniel," Sam said thoughtfully, "are you saying that the lightning that the villagers were so afraid of isn't really lightning at all, but some sort of metaphor for Merlin's weapon?" The brightening of Daniel's eyes told her how grateful he was that from that first meeting on Abydos all those years ago, through all their experiences, good and bad, she and Daniel were still on the same page. Sam smiled widely in response.

"Well we certainly heard the thunder in the distance, and that rainstorm was no hallucination," Vala argued.

"Indeed." Teal'c turned his head to regard Vala Mal Doran. "However, many worlds contain the proper geological and meteorological conditions for storms. Perhaps these people came to equate their weather with the temper of the gods."

"Exactly," Daniel agreed. "Over the years, with no contact with the Ancient who transplanted them onto that world, they turned the lightning into some kind of Hostan boogeyman."

"Which they kept away by slicing themselves up and bleeding into a trough." Mitchell remembered the circle of empty chairs that stood within the Hostan temple.

Taking his glasses off and rubbing his hands across his eyes, Daniel sighed at Mitchell's skepticism, of course he refused to believe that a group of fairly logical human beings could turn an historic event into a blood festival. Cultural bias. All students of anthropology had to come to grips with it and make peace with what one human was willing to do to himself or to others based on a belief system that didn't make much sense to the outside observer. As far as the new leader of SG-1 had come over the past year, Daniel had to remind himself that Mitchell hadn't actually been traveling through the Stargate very long, and that reading reports didn't adequately prepare someone for the realities of human interaction in the universe.

"Easy, Daniel." Jack's voice brought his hands away from his eyes and he peered blurrily at the man. The two hadn't worked together on a daily basis for years and Jack could still read his mind.

Replacing his glasses, Daniel scanned through a number of files on the large screen until it showed four angles of the Ancient writing found on the small springhouse in the temple plaza. "The Ancient writing backs this up. Well, to call it 'Ancient' is actually a misnomer. It's more like a child's attempt to copy his father's letters." He zoomed in on one section of the text. "Whoever carved these words was not an Ancient, but someone copying Ancient text without a basic understanding of the language. It's like reading a translation of a book from another language when all the knowledge the translator had of the language was a pocket dictionary."

"Dr. Jackson." General Landry tried to nudge the scientist back on track.

"Ah, it's a repetition of the legend of King Arthur, 'Morgan's gift' which I'm taking to mean his sword, Excalibur, and its scabbard, and a warning about what's called, 'the unquenchable flow' that would happen if Morgan's gift was lost. And it ends with a re-telling of the story of Arthur's death."

"What happened to Excalibur when Arthur died, Daniel," Vala asked.

"Arthur gave the sword to his dearest friend and told him to throw it back into the lake where he got it. In one story, the knight accedes to Arthur's wishes and throws the sword into the lake where the Lady of the Lake retrieves it, holding it ready for Arthur's future return. In others, the knight refuses to do so, and allows Excalibur to be buried with Arthur's body on Avalon, or the Fortunate Isles. But whichever version of the legend you read, Morgan is there, either in her guise as Lady of the Lake, or as one of the queens who transported Arthur's body to Avalon, Morgan is there." He hesitated, licking his lips and considering his next words carefully. He didn't want to do this, didn't want to open up the discussion about his Ascension again, especially with what just happened with Dr. Forsner, but this just wasn't the time to hold back.

Looking up, Daniel noticed that Jack's eyes were narrowed and dark, boring into his own. Yes, Jack, he thought, you were right. It was close – he'd been very close to Ascension again when Morgan sent him back. Turning away from his friend's gaze he looked down at his hands to hide the guilt that still lurched in his gut.

"And since Morgan herself told me that she'd been involved, and asked me to help the Hostan people…" He didn't think he'd get to finish that statement.

"What?"

"When?"

"What the hell, Jackson!" Mitchell surged out of his chair, his voice the loudest, cutting through the others. Hands splayed on the conference table he leaned forward aggressively. "That Ancient chick you saw in Atlantis is here?"

"Not…exactly," Daniel hedged.

"Oh, that's not nearly vague enough, Daniel." Jack's sarcasm slashed through Daniel's defenses and brought his head up quickly. His former CO hadn't moved, still leaning back in his chair as if completely relaxed, but Daniel knew it took all of Jack's effort not to fly across the table and strangle him where he sat. "Almost took the 'Great Path' again, didn't you? What, third time's the charm?"

"I didn't…"

"Daniel!"

"Sam, it wasn't…"

Jack interrupted. "Like hell it wasn't!"

"It's not like it was my fault…"

The loud sound of an open hand striking against the polished wood of the conference table stopped the argument cold. The silence was heated, filled with unspoken fears and stifled excuses, bodies shifting position awkwardly in the suddenly oppressive atmosphere. Daniel kept his eyes on his clenched fists, imagining he could feel the glares of the others burning his skin.

"I believe that Dr. Lam's instructions were to keep Dr. Jackson quiet and avoid excitement." Landry's voice held an unexpected twinge of laughter. "And since I'd like to stay on her good side and avoid having a stroke myself, let's keep the personal comments to a minimum, people, and try to discuss this like grown-ups, for a change, huh?" Why did every briefing with SG-1 lately end up in a shouting match?

Mitchell stood up straight, one fist knocking against the table lightly before he rubbed one hand across his face and sat down, arms crossing over his chest. Lt. Col. Carter's eyes revealed everything she was thinking – fear, hurt, concern – before she visibly switched tracks again, bringing her scientific mind to bear on the problem. O'Neill still hadn't moved, and continued to stare at the obviously stricken archaeologist, the twitch in his lips telling Landry that he was holding back another scathing comment. Teal'c brought his hands together on the table top, interlacing his thick fingers carefully, his face pensive. The fifth member of SG-1 surprised him.

"Hey," Vala said, soothingly, her large eyes moist. "We knew you almost died, Daniel, which, I'm given to understand, is not all that uncommon," she attempted a teasing tone, but her expression betrayed her. "And if that had happened, I, for one, would be relieved to know that you were still out there, somewhere, watching out for us."

Smiling suddenly, Daniel turned his head to look at her. She never ceased to amaze him. Infuriate and annoy him, too, but, at times, amaze.

"So, Morgan brought these people to this planet to, what, guard this sword, or scabbard, or whatever, and then moved on to greener pastures?" Mitchell's tone was still tense.

"I don't know, I just know that they are dying – the small population transferred to that world made it difficult to sustain as it was, but with the added hurdle of a blood ceremony decreasing their numbers further," Daniel shrugged. The conclusion was obvious.

"You don't know?"

"No, Jack," Daniel tried to explain. "It's not like we had time for a long discussion. She told me to go back, that I had to find the weapon, and then she asked me to take care of the Hostans. That's it."

"General," Sam turned to address Landry. "We could send in a cultural team, help the people understand their origins, and how the blood-letting isn't necessary. We could even relocate them to another world if they felt they couldn't escape their 'cold lightning' any other way. The population is quite small."

"I'd be happy to put SG-4 on the problem, Colonel," Landry agreed, "but our primary goal has got to be to find whatever weapon Dr. Jackson is talking about here. Whether it's the Sangraal, or Excalibur, this Ascended weapon is our only chance to defeat the ships that the Ori have sent into our galaxy." He turned towards Jackson expectantly. "Where do we go from here?"

"Ah, I believe we should follow the story of Arthur for a change, instead of the legends of Merlin himself," Daniel suggested.

"And how do we do that, son?"

"Well, if Morgan is the Lady of the Lake, this planet might have been the first stop on Excalibur's journey – there is an important water source here that played into the society's belief system. So, now, we have to find the weapon's ultimate burial site – Arthur's grave on the Isle of Avalon or the Fortunate Isles as it is called in some stories." Before the general could ask him again, or Jack could throw in the comment Daniel knew he was dying to make, he went on. "We originally thought that was at Glastonbury Tor in England, but with this new information about Morgan's involvement I went back to the list of Stargate addresses that Jack added to the database a few years ago when he was first exposed to the Ancient database. Since he did that, we've been sending probes and teams through to try to locate any information about the Ancients. Some of the local populations have been indigenous to the worlds we've found, but most have been transient, humans moved in by Goa'uld, or settling there after fleeing the Goa'uld on their own worlds. And some," Daniel clicked through to the next slide which showed a blurry UAV image of a cluster of tents, followed by MALP recordings of Major Weems from SG-6 speaking to a large man wearing desert robes with a black emblem tattooed on his forehead, "have become refuge for the free Jaffa."

"I know this world," Teal'c said suddenly, leaving his seat to approach the screen. Daniel moved to join him. "This is the emblem of Morrigan, a System Lord who fell to Ba'al's attack some years ago. The Jaffa that survived refused to join our struggle to unite the Jaffa on Dakara, and dedicated themselves peace and study, much like the Sodan warriors."

"Do you remember what they called their world, Teal'c?" Daniel asked softly.

"'Bren-Mek-Nok'," Teal'c muttered, his intense gaze meeting that of his smiling colleague before he turned to address the group still seated at the table. "Which translates to 'Island of Fortunes'?"


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter Sixteen

The humidity in the stifling air hit Samantha Carter in the face like a wet towel and she stumbled slightly on the grassy hill in front of the Stargate, dragging the thick air into her lungs. Winter in Colorado Springs and the dry, uniform ventilation of the underground SGC complex made a stark contrast to the rainforest type environment of the Jaffa planet. Glancing at her two companions she ruefully wished she had been able to adopt the loosely woven tunic and pants that Teal'c was wearing instead of the standard green BDUs that the Air Force seemed to think were appropriate for every alien landscape that included trees, grass, or foliage of any kind. If they ever came across a water planet, she was sure that the quartermaster would be calmly issuing blue uniforms to all SG teams, sure in the knowledge that water was blue, so they'd blend right in.

"Well, I'm _so_ glad I bothered to do my hair this morning," Vala complained from Sam's right, flipping the thick black locks over her shoulders. "In a few hours it'll look like I'm wearing a large furry animal on my head."

"Hey, look on the bright side – humidity does wonders for the pores," Sam smiled in response.

Teal'c took a few steps forward and bowed respectfully to the three Jaffa who had been waiting for them. Sam recognized the one in the center as Stro'noc, the Jaffa Major Weems had contacted on his previous mission to M6S-529, or Bren-Mek-Nok, as the Jaffa called it. She noticed that he and his companions had given up the traditional Jaffa robes that she'd seen Teal'c, Bra'tac and others wearing since their freedom from the oppression of the Goa'uld for something more appropriate to the climate. All three had been in the service of Morrigan and bore the stylized crow tattoo on their foreheads in black, but that and the clothing were the extent of any other resemblance among them. Stro'noc himself was tall and slender, his dark hair graying at the temples, and in his bearing and build reminding her strongly of a certain former commanding officer. The Jaffa on his right, farthest from her, was more like her "Jaffa stereotype" – dark skinned, rippling with muscles, and wearing an expression of stoic impassivity that looked awfully familiar. In front of her stood the third man, the most surprising in appearance. He looked young, almost as young as Rya'c, Teal'c's son had looked the last time she'd seen him at his marriage celebration at the SGC. Slight, a few inches shorter than her, his long, dark hair was swept off his face and gathered in a leather tie at his neck. Perhaps he was Stro'noc's son? His expression was openly curious as he raised his dark gaze to hers.

"Teal'c, of Chulak," Stro'noc held out one arm to grasp Teal'c's in the greeting of brothers. "You are much revered by the Jaffa of Bren-Mek-Nok, and we welcome you and the representatives of the Tau'ri who you choose to bring with you." The Jaffa's grey eyes included both Sam and Vala in acknowledgement, with none of the usual condescension or disapproval that the women had grown to expect from many Jaffa societies. Sam's eyebrows rose slightly as she nodded her head towards the Jaffa leader. This was a nice surprise.

"Lt. Colonel Samantha Carter of the Tau'ri, and Vala Mal Doran," Teal'c gestured towards his teammates. "I have been looking forward to visiting your world since Major Weems' first contact last year."

Stro'noc smiled at the two women before beginning the introductions on his own side. "Kre'bat," he indicated the muscle-bound Jaffa on his right, "and Lis'qan. Two members of our council. Our village is some walk from the Chappa'ai." He turned and gestured towards the well-trodden trail that led off through the trees.

"Uh, if you'd give us a few minutes, we have some procedures we have to follow," Sam strode quickly to the MALP which was safely situated among a row of large leafed plants to one side of the Stargate. "We'll check in and send this probe back to Earth if you don't mind." Her eyes met Teal'c's and silently communicated the question, but Stro'noc was unconcerned.

"Of course." The calm agreement in his expression eased some of the strain she always carried when the team interacted with a new culture – even when a previous SG team had already handled the first contact. Sam adjusted her weapon unconsciously as she considered all of the seemingly friendly inhabitants of various worlds SG-1 had encountered over the years – some of whom actually turned out to be friendly. The team was still fractured, with Daniel and Mitchell remaining behind where Dr. Lam could monitor their recoveries for the next 24 hours, and that left her concentration unfocused: she felt as if she were constantly looking over her shoulder to find the figures that weren't there, as if Daniel had just disappeared around the bend, or Cam was scouting the perimeter. Hopefully, this meet and greet would not go as wrong as their trip to the Hostan world - Teal'c was the perfect ambassador to this home of resettled Jaffa - but she brought her thinking up short before she could express any kind of relief or optimism, even to herself. Things just hadn't been going that well for SG-1 lately.

Sam quickly removed the remote from its place on the MALP and maneuvered the small vehicle so that it was aimed at the 'gate, while Vala headed for the DHD and dialed Earth. When the large blue splash relaxed into the shiny puddle of the event horizon, and at a nod from Sam, she cued her radio.

"Stargate Command, this is Vala. Do you read?"

"SG-1 this is Landry, report." The disembodied voice of the general rose from all three radios and the MALP.

Sam quickly positioned herself within the view of the MALP camera. "This is Carter, sir. We've met with Stro'noc and some other members of the council here, and we are proceeding to the village, approximately 3 clicks south-west. Will check in again in 18 hours."

"Understood. Next check-in at 08:00 our time. Be careful out there, colonel."

"Yes, sir. Sending MALP probe." Sam shifted the switch on the remote to send the probe towards into the wormhole. A few moments later, the wormhole shut down and she stowed the remote in her vest before turning to join the Jaffa.

Stro'noc kept a leisurely pace along the dirt trail, walking steadily but with no sense of urgency or haste. The farther the six came from the Stargate, the more animal and bird noises were evident, the first furtive scramble of claws in the brush startling Vala into wariness, her gun raised in expectation, but the young Jaffa that walked beside her only smiled. The ground rose slightly as they walked, and the forest thinned on either side of the trail until the small village came into view, set against the misty foothills that rose into tall peaks in the distance.

"You have accomplished much in your time here," Teal'c noted, his sharp gaze taking in the small individual dwellings set amidst larger wooden structures that stood out sharply from the greens and yellows of the native foliage on the hillside. The new buildings gleamed with a reddish tint in the afternoon sunlight, while the sharply peaked roofs shone as if made of polished stone.

"Since Morrigan capitulated to Ba'al, her Jaffa had little choice but to seek out their livelihoods among the planets that had been her domain." The older man took Teal'c's words as the compliment they were, but spoke with none of the pride or arrogance that often characterized a Jaffa. "Her first prime, Ke'tak, was taken by Ba'al and, as an example to all who refused to lay down arms, drawn and quartered before all eyes on the plains stained with the blood of our comrades. Many of us lost ourselves in those days, robbed of what we supposed were our rightful places under our god's command." His light-colored eyes grew distant, dwelling on the memories before he turned to Teal'c again. "Some took refuge among the enemy, but many of us sought out our brothers who had already embraced a new way of life – of freedom from servitude, of independence from the fickle rulings of petty tyrants."

"Indeed," the taciturn Kre'bat agreed, and Sam looked up into the hooded eyes of her traveling companion. "We heard many stories about the one who had led the Jaffa to their freedom, the shol'va who turned on his god and inspired others to do the same." Sam felt her muscles tense at the familiar slur that had followed Teal'c around the galaxy from his first actions of rebellion on Chulak all those years ago. Something within the well-trained Jaffa beside her must have sensed her sudden hostility, and he quickly smiled – an unexpected grin that lit up his entire face. "Not my word, Colonel Carter, but one spoken by the enemy on many worlds," he assured her.

"I take no offense," Teal'c murmured, a glance at his teammate revealing his amusement at her loyal gesture. "I have been called much worse."

"So, you joined the Free Jaffa Nation?" Vala asked, her eyes darting curiously between the silent youth walking at her side and the Jaffa leader.

"Perhaps 'joined' is not the correct term," Kre'bat replied, shuffling the conversational ball back to Stro'noc with a look.

Stro'noc sighed. "Forgive me, brother, but in all honesty we did not see much difference between the jealous struggles to win favor and control area of the Goa'uld and the small-minded bickering that seemed to define the Jaffa High Council."

Teal'c lowered his head, hands clasped firmly behind his back. "Your insights are not far from my own thoughts," he whispered. "Even as Bra'tac and I…"

"Oh, we do not fault you, nor Master Bra'tac," Stro'noc hurriedly added, raising one hand to halt the group's movement along the trail, eager to be understood. "The Jaffa have been warriors for so long, fighting the battles of others, that it is not surprising that, when offered freedom, we first take to squabbling among ourselves. It is what we were raised to do – bred, taught, and trained – it is in the brain, the blood, and the soul of us. To change that…well," he smiled wistfully, "that will take time. Time, patience, and a devotion to seeking a path that leads away from the violence and destruction of the past into a peaceful future. That is why we made this journey, to one of the most remote planets of Morrigan's domain where the Ancient stones still stand to help us find the way."

"Many of Morrigan's Jaffa made this journey," Kre'bat continued, sweeping a long green frond out of Carter's way as the group continued along the rough path. "Others joined us later for their own reasons." Sam noticed that his gaze lingered on the back of the dark head of the young Jaffa who was walking in front of her at Vala's side.

"Here we laid down our arms, having learned from your example, Teal'c, not to make the same mistakes as did our brothers." Stro'noc stopped again, his eyes dancing with enthusiasm for his words. "War and strife were never the Jaffa's choice, my friend, but were forced upon us by our oppressors, the ones who made us to serve as living wombs for their young so many eons ago. In order to find our true spirits, our true selves, we must renounce our physical struggles and seek a new path."

"So, you're seeking the path to enlightenment?" Vala's tone and sudden wary glance back at Sam revealed her unease at these hauntingly familiar words. The last 'true enlightenment' she'd been witness to had more to do with burning oil than with spiritual knowledge.

Sam found herself responding to the warning look and slowly inched her hand down along the stock of her P-90. Before she could take a step back away from the three Jaffa to better assess the threat, Teal'c reached back and caught her arm in a grip that was gentle but firm.

"But not that which the Ori have offered." His even, relaxed tone acted like a warm caress over Sam's nerves.

"Never." The young Jaffa at Vala's side spoke up for the first time and Vala's eyes snapped to his face. His voice was gravely, as if he were much older than his apparent years. "We heard the Ori – I heard them," he corrected himself quickly, "on my home planet where I took refuge after Morrigan's downfall. The people there were visited by a Prior of the Ori. He spoke of faith and hope. Of enlightenment and cleansing. After so many years as slaves, the people refused to believe. A great plague swept the village – even our symbiotes could not protect us." His sentences were short, clipped, emotionless, but hid a wealth of pain beneath.

Sam could only watch as Vala stood, stricken by the young man's words, her expressive eyes finally closing to try to trap the tears that threatened to fall. Daniel had told her about their run-in with the Prior on one of Quetesh's planets last year when she was still with Area 51, and how personally Vala had taken her failure to protect those who had once been her people – a simple people, who could not in good faith trade one false god for another. Now, with her somehow-daughter Adria, the very personification of the Ori, unleashed upon the galaxy, Vala's guilt had to be soaring to new heights. Vala shook her head and blinked rapidly, catching Sam's supportive glance and shooting a false smile her way before squaring her shoulders to listen to the rest of Lis'qan's story.

"I watched as hundreds of my neighbors died - mothers, children, no one was safe. My own sister died as I slept beside her, and when I awakened my first sight was her pale face, her blind eyes clouded, features twisted in pain." The boy's description was strangely calm, as if he were talking about strangers or reciting a tale from long ago. "By then the village elders had changed their minds and agreed to follow Origin if the Prior helped them. The plague suddenly went away. The dead were burned. The living knelt in prostration." He lifted one hand to touch his throat. "Some were scarred, or crippled. But I knew," Lis'qan raised his eyes, once a gentle brown, but now seared black by some fierce inner flame, "when I saw my sister's dead face, that any 'gods,'" the loathing suddenly shuddered through his raspy voice, "that would demand the worship and fealty of people by threatening death to their children were never true gods any more than the Goa'uld – the parasites that wore the trappings of men and women and claimed godhood – were worthy of worship. They are evil, worthy only of destruction." His voice was not the only part of the young man that vibrated with feeling.

"Lis'qan." Stro'noc shook his head silently. "This anger keeps you from your path."

A grimace of despair flickered across the youth's face before he lowered his head at the elder's words. "I- I fear that my journey will be long before I can close my eyes and not see the dead faces of my family," he stuttered.

The abrupt silence was only emphasized by the uninhibited noises of the forest that surrounded them. For the second time in the past hour Sam relaxed, hearing the truth in the boy's words, but, more importantly, seeing his hatred of the Ori stamped on his features. Even if these Jaffa had given up their military discipline and warrior ways, they would be welcome allies against the Ori - if all of them felt the way Lis'qan did, the Ori would find no followers here as they had among Ger'ak's supporters. If the Ancients left a weapon to fight their evil counterparts on this world among these people, it was the first stroke of luck they'd had in a very, very long time.

After a moment, Kre'bat stepped past Vala towards the stricken boy and put one large hand around each of his thin arms, pulling Lis'qan around to face him. "Am I not your brother, Lis'qan?" he whispered, in a gesture of fierce gentleness. "Have you not found family here?" The display of emotionalism was strange to see among the proud Jaffa people who equated weakness with death. The warrior leaned towards his young comrade, with no apparent concern about how others – strangers – might view this tender scene, completely caught up in the pain of his brother. As they stood together, one towering at least two heads over the smaller figure, the image of these men – one tall and strong, the other deeply wounded, struck a chord deep within Samantha Carter and she glanced quickly at Teal'c. The warmth of his returned gaze told her that he also saw the resemblance between these two Jaffa on another world and his own early friendship with a young, wounded Daniel Jackson.

Lis'qan's deep, rattling breath broke the tension, and Stro'noc nodded, leading the way again towards the village on the hill, resuming his description of how the group of Jaffa came to this world. Kre'bat gave the younger man a playful push towards Vala, and she grinned, managing to hook her arm through one of his as she followed. Sam shook her head and fell in a step behind.

The village reminded her of many that she'd seen during her travels through the Stargate. Children ran, playing and shrieking in delight at their simple games through the settlement. Women, wearing the same simple tunic and trousers as the men, busied themselves around communal hearths, or chatted in groups. Men seemed to be just returning, game or fish from the day's hunt carried in nets, on lines, or over broad shoulders. An older girl who had been chasing after some toddlers froze in her steps and stared as the strangers walked by, mouth open in mid-yell at her charges. Her eyes followed the group for ten or so paces before the squeals of the children brought her back to her chore. Many of the women and almost all of the men showed the black crow tattoo on their foreheads, but none carried the Jaffa staff weapon that Sam had come to associate with the race. Bows and arrows, hunting knives, the occasional zat gun were in evidence, but it seemed as if Stro'noc was telling the truth when he said they had laid down their arms and were pursuing a life of peace.

Stro'noc and the others waved greetings to many who hailed them, but led the group resolutely towards one of the larger buildings situated in the center of the settlement. Sam's companion acted tour guide and pointed out various points of interest, from the two stone wells at either end of the village, to the group of men and women applying a thick, clear paste to the wooden walls of a dwelling at the edge of the central common area in order to seal the material against the daily rainfall. Kre'bat reached forward to hold open the door of what appeared to be the settlement's meeting hall with one hand, and bowed Sam into the structure with one of his broad smiles. She couldn't help but grin back. Chivalry wasn't dead after all – it had just moved out to the rim of the galaxy.

The hall looked more like a primitive church building than anything else, Sam decided: plain wooden benches lined up in ranks with a central aisle allowing access to a raised area at the other end where three Jaffa plainly waited for the group behind a long table set with six chairs. Sam, Vala, and Teal'c paused in the empty space before the table, while Stro'noc, Lis'qan, and Kre'bat took their places on the other side with their fellow councilors – two women and one man, Sam noticed, all former Jaffa of various ages and colorings, with Stro'noc clearly the oldest and Lis'qan the youngest. Teal'c stood at ease, a slight smile on his dark face while Vala and Sam turned to take in the entire room, observing the door set to the right behind the councilors as the only other entrance. Some sort of flickering light illuminated the windowless structure, diffused through tall screens set along the walls that seemed to be made of paper or thin membranes of some sort – Sam itched for a closer look, but brought her focus back to the table with determined firmness.

Stro'noc, now seated in the center of the group, with Kre'bat still to his right and Lis'qan to his left, raised his voice and spread his hands in welcome. "You have come as friends, and as friends we greet you. Know this: whatever you bring, for good or ill, the people of Bren-Mek-Nok are sworn to peace, and the elimination of the stronger's power over the weaker." Heads nodded along the table as if these words were well-rehearsed.

Taking a step forward, Teal'c raised his own hands in a like gesture. "My brothers. We seek only knowledge of those who are the forebears of us all, and ask your leave to pursue that knowledge among the Ancient stones of your world."

The Jaffa leaned forward almost as one, quickly glancing among themselves. "Just that?" asked a black-skinned female wearing a band of yellow cloth across her broad forehead.

"Just that," Teal'c replied with a short bow.

"Do the Tau'ri seek after the path? The ways of the Ancients?" Kre'bat's thick brows furrowed. "I had not known the Tau'ri as more than strong and stalwart fighters against their enemies, or sometimes craftsmen of great cunning. Are there priests and priestesses among you?"

"There are many scholars among the people of the Tau'ri as well," Teal'c replied, shifting his stance slightly to invite Sam and Vala into the discussion.

"We'd like to see the Ancient structures you've discovered, and to study any writing we find there," Sam added. "We're hoping to find clues to help us interpret some other Ancient texts that we've found in our travels over the years."

Lis'qan's head snapped up. "You understand the Ancient tongue? You can read the glyphs and symbols?" Sam wondered what else in the young man's past brought him such an expression of hope and desperation.

"Well, not us, personally," Vala chimed in with a bright smile. "But we do have a friend who is quite good at it."

Sam cut her off. "So you have found writing?"

"We have," Stro'noc admitted freely, "in the forest ruins. But even Lis'qan, with all of his schooling has been able to do little more than guess at meanings." His tone held no recriminations towards the young Jaffa, and Lis'qan only nodded in agreement. "If you would share your knowledge of the Ancient tongue with us…"

Pausing only to raise one eyebrow in Colonel Carter's direction and receive her answering nod, Teal'c faced the Jaffa council. "I believe our friend will be happy to do so."

"Then your arrival is welcome for many reasons, brother." Stro'noc rose, followed quickly by the other Jaffa. "The evening meal will be shared soon. You will join us?" he asked hopefully.

"Indeed."

"And," Lis'qan added quickly, "this friend of whom you speak?" His eyes shone with anticipation.

Vala and Sam shared a quick smile. "Oh, when he hears about this nothing will keep him away."

**oooooooooooooooooooooo**

**I apologize for the length of time between updates. Life intrudes, etc., but I promise more timely updates from now on. Again, thank you to all who have read and for those who have left their thoughts. Worry not – Daniel, Jack, and Mitchell are also busy back at the SGC. Their chapter is next.**


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: For those of you who have been following along, the evil Dr. Forsner is making a come-back. Will be revising the earlier chapter reference to him being flown off to NID Headquarters in DC at the urgings of some readers who'd like to see a resolution between him and Daniel. Decided I'd kinda like to see that, too.**

Chapter Seventeen

Landry signed off from Carter's initial check-in and signaled Sgt. Harriman to shut down the wormhole just as he sensed movement beside him. He turned, a smile already on his face as he faced the diminutive but intense figure of his daughter, the CMO of the Stargate facility. She'd finally emerged from her self-imposed exile in the infirmary, but he could tell by her expression that the consequences of Dr. Forsner's unsupervised access to Daniel Jackson still weighed heavily on her mind.

"What can I do for you?" he asked carefully, knowing how much Carolyn hated to have "dad" show up for a conversation she's intended to have with "General Landry," and vice versa.

"General, I'd like your permission to speak with Dr. Forsner." Her dark eyes snapped with purpose.

So it was the general she wanted to talk to. He could do that. "Dr. Forsner is under the control of Agent Barrett and the NID, Dr. Lam. And, if I'm not mistaken, he has refused to speak with anyone." He gestured towards the stairs at the back of the Control Room that led to the next level and his office, pacing alongside her as she began to move.

"Sir," he could see her throat move convulsively as she spoke the word. Landry sighed inwardly, while keeping the same open and interested expression on his face. "I've gone over everything that I can access from Dr. Forsner's equipment, but I know there is more data in there – encrypted data, important information about his theories about Dr. Jackson and the physical changes required for Ascension. I'd only need a few minutes with him."

_Get in line_, added Landry to himself grimly. Cutting off that train of thought he stopped at the top of the stairs and turned, reaching out to take his daughter's elbow to steady her before she either ran into him or stumbled backward. "I thought you and Colonel Carter had already determined that Dr. Forsner's theory that we could somehow utilize Dr. Jackson for research into an anti-Ori weapon was thoroughly disproven." He frowned. "Has something happened to change your mind?"

"Well, no," she admitted, absently pulling her arm from his light grasp. "It does seem evident that the way Dr. Jackson can shield his mind from outside influence is idiosyncratic to him. Unless we can somehow convince the Ancients to Ascend the entire human population of the galaxy and then send us back that ability isn't likely to transfer to anyone else."

The general nodded and resumed his stride towards his office. "So," he waved her to a chair and closed the door behind her, "what exactly do you hope to achieve by interviewing a so-called scientist whose work turned out to be not only completely wrong, but seriously damaging to a valued member of my command?" He dropped into his chair allowing his voice to adopt that barely controlled edge that communicated his disappointment at the actions of one of the people under his command. Gloves off, General to Chief Medical Officer. It had been her choice.

Carolyn lowered her dark gaze to her hands which were wrapped around each other in her lap. _Seriously damaging_. A bit of an understatement. "General, the damage to Dr. Jackson's nervous system," she hesitated, still bewildered by the nearly perfect results of her last battery of extensive tests performed on her patient. He should have died. At the very least he should have been a vegetable. Instead, she could really find no medical reason to keep him in the infirmary. She abruptly switched gears. "I can only assure you that there has been no permanent damage and he seems fully recovered, amazingly enough," she added quietly. She raised her head, accepting the simple rebuke from her commanding officer. If she could get him to agree to this, it might in some small way make up for her failure to protect Daniel in the first place. "Sir," she watched her father's eyebrows rise at her repeated use of the word, "if we can get access to all of Forsner's data we might be able to salvage something from this fiasco." She leaned forward. "He's been studying everything the SGC has uncovered about the process of Ascension, about Orlin and the Harcesis and Daniel for years – since long before I had even heard of the Stargate. Wouldn't it be better to find a way to access all of his information?"

"In a perfect world, yes." Landry's eyes narrowed. "But right now we need to concentrate all of our resources on finding Merlin's anti-Ori weapon. The NID has the necessary time and expertise to get Forsner to divulge his methods – we don't." Their pursuit of Merlin's weapon had turned into an all-out sprint ever since the group of clones had made off with the list of Stargate addresses from the Ancient database.

Allowing herself a deep breath, Carolyn carefully interlaced her fingers and straightened her shoulders. "I realize that, General, but correct me if I'm wrong – isn't Dr. Jackson the best resource we have to actually find this thing? And wouldn't it help him if he could finally understand more about his past and what makes him Adria's target?" She saw the hesitation in Landry's eyes and continued. "I'm not suggesting a long process; I know that Agent Barrett is flying out with his prisoner tonight. But while we have the opportunity…"

"Your primary responsibility, Dr. Lam, is to make sure that Dr. Jackson and Col. Mitchell are healthy and ready to join the rest of SG-1 off-world. Shouldn't you be concentrating your energies on that and not on some fact-finding mission about Ascension?" Now he was bound to see fireworks.

Carolyn felt her own temper kick in. "And I have done that, General. Granted I'd like to keep Daniel here indefinitely for testing to satisfy my own curiosity, but I simply can't justify it." She stuck out her chin. "And since I have no background in interrogation or investigation, I'm not suggesting that I do the interview myself. But can you give me one compelling reason why we should waste this opportunity to interview a man with such a close connection to Ba'al and The Trust, not to mention the possibility that he might be able to offer Dr. Jackson some insight into his own abilities?"

"Besides the fact that Dr. Forsner is being less than cooperative and refuses to speak to anyone?" Landry half rose, bristling. "Carolyn," his voice softened, "why are you doing this?"

"What do you mean?" She felt herself stiffen against his sudden gentleness.

Landry gestured towards the files lined up in neat rows on his desk. "Getting yourself involved with this investigation – it's not like you." Patiently facing her shuttered eyes and closed expression, he prodded further. "What are you trying to prove?"

Shoving her hands into the deep pockets of her lab coat, Carolyn stood and paced away from her father's intrusive gaze. "I guess I feel like I owe it to him," she finally admitted, shrugging. She turned to face her father.

Smiling, Hank Landry took a step towards his daughter, as sure as he could be that it was okay for "dad" to make an appearance. "I understand," he said softly, "and I know that you'd like to try to somehow balance the karmic scoreboard by offering Dr. Jackson closure on this situation, but that's not always possible."

"But this time it might be," she replied, her lips set in a tight line.

Landry rocked back on his heels. "And you think we can figure out some kind of leverage that would get Dr. Forsner to spill the beans before Agent Barrett hauls him back to Washington on the red-eye tonight?"

"Actually, I might have an idea about that." Carolyn admitted that she felt a splash of relief at her father's warm advice, and kept her tone droll as she made her suggestion. The small smile and answering flare in his light eyes did much to unclench her stiff muscles and she dipped her head in acknowledgement before heading for her next confrontation.

vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

"Are you nuts?" Jack O'Neill's fork clattered against the metal tray dramatically, his shout effectively bringing all conversation in the commissary to a temporary halt. His incredulous expression mirrored the one on Cameron Mitchell who was seated next to the general, across the table from Carolyn's own hesitant perch on the chair beside Daniel, who, oddly enough, seemed to have no reaction at all to her words. O'Neill glanced around, pointedly raising eyebrows at the few airmen and civilians who were still obviously gaping at the scene.

Dr. Lam inwardly commended the speed at which the general could inspire ducked heads and vacant expressions before repeating her suggestion. "I think it might be the only way we'll get him to talk, General." Gaze focused on O'Neill, she could see out of the corner of her eye that Mitchell had leaned back in his chair, arms folded, his own attention on Dr. Jackson's silence. The archaeologist seemed quietly intent on his bowl of blue jello.

Jack leaned forward almost threateningly. "What part of 'mad-scientist-torturer' do you not get, _doctor_?"

"Jack…"

O'Neill pretended not to hear the implied warning in Daniel's voice. "I don't care if the guy never speaks again, you're not giving him another crack at Daniel's brain."

"I'd never suggest that, General," Carolyn agreed quickly, trying to stem the older man's protective instincts. "But the situation is different now."

"Different how, exactly," Mitchell drawled quietly into the short window of opportunity after her reply while O'Neill was still drawing breath for his comeback.

"Obviously, Dr. Forsner will be given no access to his equipment, nor should he be alone with Dr. Jackson. But properly supervised, just conversation between the two men should be completely safe."

"Ah!" Jack's raised finger reminded Carolyn of her 5th grade teacher. "Refresh my memory – didn't we try the whole 'completely safe' route once before?"

"Jack…"

"No, I could swear I've heard those words before somewhere, now when was that exactly?"

Her father had made it clear that getting Dr. Jackson's cooperation would not be enough this time – he knew the unnaturally curious diplomat would not hesitate to agree – she'd have to run the gauntlet of both O'Neill and Mitchell before he'd sign off on her plan to elicit cooperation from Forsner. She'd mistakenly thought that approaching the men when they were all together in a relaxed environment might make her job easier, but it wasn't quite turning out that way. She tried again. "General, we'll take every precaution that you want, set up the interrogation room to your exact orders, keep the prisoner secured…"

"Damn straight you will," O'Neill growled. A quiet snort from the man at Carolyn's elbow caught the general off guard and he stopped abruptly. "Not that I'll allow it, but if I did, then you'd have to, to do that…at least…"

Mitchell hid a smile behind the hand that he drew across his mouth. "You really think Forsner has something useful to tell us?"

"I don't honestly know, but it seems worth what little risk we're taking to find out." Carolyn placed her hands flat on the table in front of her, willing herself to patience. "This is the only thing Dr. Forsner has been requesting."

"Well, yeah, the guy's a nutjob," O'Neill scrubbed one hand through his short hair. "Another one to add to your fanatical stalker list, Daniel." He did not allow his gaze to stray from Carolyn Lam's face as he addressed the younger man. "How many does this make now?"

She felt Daniel's shrug against her shoulder. "I think Sam's got the database on her computer." His good-natured mumble chased a fleeting smile across the general's face.

"And you, of course," O'Neill finally turned his attention to the subject of the conversation, "are just peachy with this suggestion, I presume?"

Carolyn turned, watching Daniel place one hand on his chest, eyebrows rising in mock surprise. "Oh, you're asking me? Really?" He paused, allowing only the smallest bite of sarcasm to color his tone. "Seriously? You - you want _my_ opinion about Dr. Lam's suggestion about _me_ interrogating Forsner?"

"_Daniel_."

"_Jack_."

"Petulance does not become you," Jack muttered through clenched teeth.

"_Petulance_…that Word-a-Day calendar Walter gave you seems to be working."

"Look," Mitchell interjected quickly, "as much as I love seeing somebody else on the receiving end of Jackson's silver tongue, and, looking back I realize that came out sounding just…wrong…" Carolyn concentrated on keeping her face straight, hoping Cameron could divert these two ridiculously stubborn men from their current face-off. "But are we going to do this? 'Cause we're supposed to meet up with SG-1 on the Jaffa planet in the morning," he waved one hand between himself and Daniel, "if we check out medically, and I, for one, would rather not put off getting the team back together to talk to this idiot. So, if we're gonna do it -"

"Agent Barrett and General Landry are just awaiting your word, General," Carolyn added.

"Isn't that nice," O'Neill rubbed his hands together. "I do so love being needed." He rose deliberately from his chair, eyeing the three silent figures still seated around the table. "C'mon, Mitchell, let's not keep our guest waiting." He suddenly leaned forward and tapped two fingers on the table in front of Dr. Lam. "Just remember, doc, two strikes and you're out." He turned and strode unhurriedly from the room, Mitchell hesitating a moment to meet Carolyn's eyes before he jogged to catch up.

"Well, that was…" Carolyn Lam searched for the proper word.

"Bracing?" Daniel filled in helpfully.

Frowning, she tried the word out against her feelings. "No…"

"Exasperating? Grating? Insensitive?"

"Wow, you are a linguist, aren't you?" she dead-panned, blinking. Staring into the friendly blue eyes of the man whose heart had stopped only 36 hours ago, Carolyn felt a lump rise in her throat. "Dr. Jackson…"

"Daniel," he smiled.

She shook her head firmly. "I owe you -"

"No - no you don't," Daniel cut her off gently. "And, before something happens and I completely neglect to tell you," he placed one hand over hers where it rested on the table, "thank you."

Shocked by the sincerity and solemnity of his expression, she sat speechless.

Daniel blinked quickly against the memory of another face above a white lab coat and rose, collecting empty trays and half-filled cups of cold sludge from the table around him before heading towards the exit.

vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

Col. Mitchell and Dr. Carolyn Lam stood stiffly in the observation room, eyes riveted on the scene that had been unfolding in the interrogation room for the past twenty minutes, neither able to look away. Taking into consideration each one's experiences with the downright bizarre during their tenures with the Stargate program, their amazement at the discussion they were witnessing would suggest a completely new level of weird. Intergalactic plagues, corn pushers, even evil tattooed albinos who could kill you with their brains were easier for Mitchell to deal with than the intense, personal discussion that was taking place in the room below between a self-admitted Ba'al worshipper and the calm, blue-eyed man seated across from him.

He didn't know why General O'Neill hadn't stopped the interview as soon as Forsner made his first verbal assault on Jackson's composure, but, then again, he didn't claim to understand the silent communication that he observed between the two longtime teammates. With one look, Jackson and O'Neill seemed to hold lengthy discussions, weigh pros and cons, and come to determined conclusions. But, man, it was hard to watch Jackson just absorb the blows that might not be physical, but had to leave some nasty scars.

Accompanied by two armed SFs, Barrett had brought in the prisoner, his wrists and ankles shackled to the belt around his narrow waist, under the watchful and suspicious eye of General Jack O'Neill almost a half-hour before. O'Neill had taken custody of the only key to the shackles after securing Forsner's hands to a sturdy ring bolted to the underside of the heavy metal table – it and the two chairs set on either side of it the only furniture in the room. Forsner had looked around excitedly, studying O'Neill's face with dread and squinting up at the observation window expectantly. After being seated and secured he glanced around again, twisting as far as the tight chains allowed, before his eager expression fell into one of sullen disapproval.

"You told me I'd get to speak with Dr. Jackson," he whined. "You said if I cooperated with the medical tests he'd be here."

"No," Barrett leaned back against the wall a few feet from one end of the table, "I said that if you cooperated General O'Neill might approve a meeting with Dr. Jackson."

Forsner grimaced at the equivocation. "Well?" he finally demanded after O'Neill had checked the restraints a third time.

Repressing the urge to slam the neurologist's head against the metal table a few dozen times, Jack straightened and met Mitchell's eyes through the glass partition, nodding. He'd then taken a position close behind Forsner, hands at his sides, fingers nervously tapping along the seam of his pants as the door set in the opposite wall opened to admit a pensive Daniel Jackson. _Naturally_, Jack noted, _the only person in the room not wound far past his breaking point was Forsner's victim._

"Dr. Jackson!" Jack's hands were immediately on the neurologist's shoulders, pushing him back down into his chair before he'd been able to move more than an inch. Forsner didn't seem to notice. "You're fully recovered?" He seemed genuinely pleased.

"Yes," Daniel answered shortly, dropping into the chair opposite the scientist. He placed Forsner's hand-held computer on the table between the two, but Forsner only had eyes for Daniel.

"Remarkable," he muttered, leaning forward before Jack's harsh grasp pulled him back. "The readings were unmistakable – different from what I was expecting, yes, but your EEG showed such incredible activity – or lack of activity I suppose would be more accurate," he chuckled as if eager to share the joke.

"So I've been told," Daniel smiled quickly. "I don't actually remember much."

"No, I suppose you wouldn't."

Mitchell frowned. The man showed absolutely no sign of remorse for his actions whatsoever.

"I was wondering if you could help me out, Dr. Forsner," Daniel prodded the device on the table with one finger. "I'd really like to study the results of your, uh experiments, but Dr. Lam can't get through your encryption."

Forsner snorted. "Of course she can't. Some of the best programmers on the planet are responsible for my systems, Dr. Jackson. A simple MD has no hope of cracking these codes."

In the observation room, Carolyn had no difficulty hiding her reaction, but noticed a slight twitch on General O'Neill's not quite so impassive face.

"You must be dying to know what I've discovered about your Ascension, Daniel – may I call you Daniel?" Mitchell and Lam had exchanged an unbelieving stare when Jackson quickly agreed. Lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, Forsner gestured towards the device with his chin. "All of the relevant data is in there. I've got the analysis of your scan under the Tok'ra Zatarc device, your last few moments before you succumbed to radiation sickness, the initial readings taken by Dr. Janet Frasier when you returned to the physical plane, neurological comparisons between EEGs of the personalities you housed from the spacecraft _Stromos_ and your own, as well as many other studies that helped considerably with my research." Forsner watched for Daniel's reaction carefully. "It's all there."

"And it all led you to an incorrect conclusion," Daniel smiled coldly, leaning back in his chair.

"Well – well, yes," Forsner stammered, "my hypothesis was flawed, my new findings will send the research down another branch altogether, but surely you'd be interested in the little Ascension How-To Book," Mitchell could see the capital letters in his mind's eye, "that I've developed?"

"'How-To Book'?" The skepticism was written all over Daniel's face.

Forsner continued as if the archaeologist hadn't spoken. "Both Shifu and Khalek were of great assistance in putting everything together."

Mitchell watched as Jackson's glance darted up to meet General O'Neill's over the scientist's head. Why had that statement rocked the man so deeply?

"Shifu?"

"Had you forgotten that the Tok'ra had the Harcesis child hooked up to the Zatarc detector during his stay in the SGC, that in fact it was still connected when the boy floated off in a ball of light?" The false note of sympathy in Forsner's voice had Mitchell clenching his fists as he watched Jackson close his eyes and pinch the bridge of his nose for a long moment.

"Yeah, I guess I had forgotten that," Daniel replied quietly. "How long has The Trust had a Tok'ra operative?"

"For quite some…" the smooth question had slid neatly under Forsner's radar and the man shook his head smartly. "Very good, Daniel!" he added once he'd gotten over his initial chagrin. "Yes, we've had a spy within the Tok'ra ranks feeding us information about technology, the symbiote poison, and, most importantly, anything they can get their hands on about you, for years." Forsner winced slightly as O'Neill's fingers dug into his shoulder before the general could control himself and drop his hand back to his side.

"And you've been working with the Goa'uld – with Ba'al – an enemy to the entire human race, for how long?"

"That's not important," Forsner shrugged his self-control firmly back in place. "You're a scientist, Daniel, surely you know that it doesn't matter where the money comes from – what's important is that the research is completed and the results are gathered. And my results," the neurologist smiled widely, "are fascinating." Studying Daniel's face, he went on. "I could answer so many of your questions."

"Okay, so explain it to me," Daniel sat forward and folded his hands together deliberately on the table. "Just what do you think you know about Ascension?"

Narrowing his eyes at Daniel's sudden interest, Forsner waited. "Why should I?" he finally asked. "Why should I help you break my encryptions?"

Mitchell could see that his teammate's smile was strained. "Because you want to," he stated quietly, blue gaze never leaving Forsner's. "You have something you want to tell me or you wouldn't have told Agent Barrett that I was the only person you'd speak with." The colonel had to listen closely to pick up all of Jackson's words. "So, I'm here," Daniel looked around, "we're here, just waiting to hear your insights. Or has all this been some kind of pathetic attempt at celebrity?"

Forsner chewed at his lower lip as if struggling with his resolve, but Mitchell recognized the light of victory in the man's cold eyes. "'Truth of spirit'," he announced at last.

Daniel sought out Jack's eyes again, but then turned to look directly at Mitchell in the observation room. "What is that supposed to mean?" he managed to ask, but, with that face, Jackson shouldn't ever try to play poker, Mitchell decided.

"You know what it means, Daniel. It's the basis for human Ascension. Five years ago an Ascended being saw potential in you – truth of spirit, a deep goodness, an innate passion for truth and right, whatever you'd like to call it – and she helped you Ascend." He watched the young man squirm under the weight of the words, unable to accept the implied praise. "No human being at our current level of evolution could ascend on his own, but, with her help, you did it."

"This is nothing new," Daniel made as if to rise and leave the room, his tone resigned, but Forsner's voice held him in his seat.

"I thought you could somehow access your Ascended powers now, in your human form, with the proper stimuli, but you can't – at least not consciously. You'd need to Ascend again to use them." Forsner grinned. "But I suspect you already knew that."

The way Jackson now deliberately avoided eye contact with O'Neill convinced Mitchell that the geeky neurologist might be skating pretty darn close to the truth. He could feel the tension in the room escalate, bodies stiffened and nervous glances passed between O'Neill and Barrett.

"If you could Ascend again, you'd have access to all of the knowledge in the Universe, wouldn't you? You'd know where Merlin's weapon was, you'd know if the Ascended Ori could make good on their threats to subjugate this galaxy, and you might be able to figure out a way to effectively fight against them."

"Okay, clearly, you don't know as much about Ascended beings as you think you do," Daniel began.

Forsner continued, undeterred. "But that's the problem, isn't it? You need an Ascended being's help to Ascend, and, over the past few years you know you've changed so much that you aren't likely to get that, are you?"

_Ungh_. Mitchell felt that low blow himself, but this time Jackson didn't react.

"And, even if you did, you'd still be considered a second-class Ascended citizen, barred from any action and controlled by the, how did you describe them in your report, the _Others_?" Forsner snickered. "So, what you need, Daniel, is a method to Ascend without help, a clear method to Ascension that would secure your status as an equal. That's what you'll find in my research."

Silence spread through the room, all eyes fixed on the intense frown and firmly closed eyes of SG-1's formerly Ascended archaeologist/linguist. Mitchell saw that Jackson was trembling with effort, sweat popping out along his brow, and he dragged his gaze away as if to offer some semblance of privacy to his teammate. Next to him, Carolyn Lam seemed to be regretting she'd ever stuck her nose into this investigation, her hands twisting the papers she'd been clutching into a wadded mess, her face very pale. Malcolm Barrett's dark eyes were watching, analyzing, almost hopeful in their assessment of Forsner's cooperation. O'Neill's reaction was the most chilling, and Mitchell felt as if a cold blade had barely touched the back of his neck and slid down his spine leaving a trail of fear in its wake. Any sense of the general's natural humor or sarcastic wit had been swallowed up by his utter stillness – the only impression of life the fierce gaze that rested on Daniel Jackson's outstretched hand, a hand that seemed to be reaching for Forsner's computer with a mind of its own. Mitchell braced himself for action, but the unexpected sound of the low, self-deprecating laugh that bubbled up from between Jackson's lips turned his well-trained muscles to the consistency of blue jello as a universal sigh of relief lifted the tension.

"What…" Carolyn whispered, the first word Mitchell had heard her speak since Forsner's arrival in the interrogation room.

"Dr. Jackson?" Agent Barrett also felt compelled to ask a question.

Jackson rose smoothly to his feet, blue eyes twinkling with amusement as they took in an outraged Forsner before alighting on Barrett's confused face. He grabbed the device with one hand and tossed it to the startled NID agent who caught it clumsily.

"Sorry," Daniel smiled an apology. "Not that it would have mattered if you'd missed it as I'm fairly sure that Dr. Forsner's so-called research is going to turn out to be completely useless."

Forsner spluttered in anger, but Jack O'Neill's solid grip kept him firmly in his seat as Daniel strode towards the door. "Wait!" he finally blurted out as the thick metal door slid back. "You know I'm right – my research is sound – Ascension is the only way to defeat the Ori!" Jack couldn't resist grabbing a handful of the man's jumpsuit and slamming him down hard.

Mitchell watched as Jackson stopped in the open doorway and turned back to face the neurologist one last time. "Then why haven't you Ascended, Dr. Forsner? What are you waiting for? Get out there and kick some Ori butt!" He punched the air with his fist playfully, but Mitchell noticed there was a darkness behind his eyes as he turned away. Dr. Lam hurried out of the observation room after him without a backward glance.

"I – me?" Forsner blinked rapidly at Daniel's back as Jack reached down to unlock his shackles from the table and drag him to his feet. "I couldn't…I'm not…"

"It's okay there, sparky," Jack patted him on the cheek mockingly. "Don't feel bad. Nobody gets the last word with that guy." After the two SFs hauled the confused prisoner out the other door and Jack shrugged an apology to Agent Barrett, he stood for a moment biting at the inside of his cheek.

Cueing the microphone so the general could hear him, Mitchell cleared his throat. "Uh, General?"

"What?" snapped the annoyed man without raising his eyes to the window.

"This isn't over, is it?"

"Ya think?"


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter Eighteen

_Now_

"_But," Ba'al leaned back against the wall and resumed his former stance, arms crossed, "as you so correctly stated the matter, Dr. Jackson, I've…changed a bit since then." A smile touched his eyes slightly. "But then, so have you."_

_Daniel shifted his gaze uncomfortably, looking away from the clone's self-satisfied expression. The words re-opened a wound that the Goa'uld sarcophagus could not reach – a deep, festering sore that had nothing to do with pain sticks or staff weapons and that he knew had been torn open only recently by similar words. Again, Jack O'Neill's face flashed unwanted through his mind accompanied by so strong a surge of grief and anguish that Daniel pushed the image away with a small shake of his head._

"_So, are you going to tell me why you've come all the way out to my little section of the universe, brought me up here, healed me, and now are standing here trading clever remarks?" Daniel's inner turmoil drove him to movement and sent him pacing back and forth in front of the couch he'd found himself on when he awoke. Even as he tried to clutch at his waning self-control he knew his own emotions and thoughts were right at the edge, threatening to take over and push him to some word or action which would give Ba'al more information than he already had. His memory was foggy, but one thing was certain: when the bad guys treated you nicely something even more disturbing than death was not far behind. He folded his arms and gripped tightly, almost painfully, and snarled at the Goa'uld. "'Cause I thought the whole reason you and your buddies invaded the SGC recently was to find the 'gate coordinates to the planet with Merlin's weapon." He lifted his head and shot a scornful grin at his captor. "Trust me when I say this isn't it."_

"_Isn't it?" Ba'al's expression didn't change. "Then why is the highly respected SG-1 spending time among the Ancient ruins on this planet of cowardly Jaffa?"_

"_Don't tell me you've been reduced to following us around?" Daniel stopped pacing and stood, hands on hips, a few feet away from the Goa'uld, overpowered by the flush of contempt that shuddered through him. "Or is that just the job your Master has given you as, what, punishment? Latrine duty? Been a bad snake, have you?" he laughed. "Been caught dressing up in your big brother's robes?"_

_The clone moved faster than Daniel anticipated, scowling face within inches of his before he could blink, and one hand poised to strike. Daniel's face, lines set into his forehead, showed no reaction, his blue eyes fixed placidly on Ba'al's fierce stare. He neither flinched nor stiffened before the threat, as if he really didn't care where the blow landed. It never did._

"_You really shouldn't try so hard to provoke me, Dr. Jackson." The words hissed through the clone's clenched teeth._

"_Not really trying," Daniel smiled._

_Ba'al lowered his hand but jutted his bearded chin even closer to Daniel's. "I see now why my Jaffa could not help himself from harming you. Unfortunately, as useful as the Jaffa can be, they were never bred for their intelligence."_

"_And you, of course, were," Daniel's eyes narrowed mockingly._

_The clone clapped one hand on Daniel's shoulder and roared with laughter. Shaking his head, he stepped away from the confrontation, pouring another goblet of water before he turned again. "You are not far wrong, my friend. Ba'al did manipulate each clone's genetic structure in order to emphasize a particular characteristic. Some he equipped with solid constitutions, some with intellect, some with physical endurance, and some models," he gestured at himself, "were of a more experimental nature. But I digress," he added, meeting Daniel's eyes again. "We were speaking of the reason for your presence on this planet, which is, I believe, the same as mine."_

_Daniel turned his back and wandered back to the couch, rubbing his forehead with one hand as fleeting images of Ancient text spilled across his mind's eye. Another wild goose chase across the galaxy more out of desperation than any real hope. Anger and pain warred for ascendance as he lowered himself to the padded edge of the couch and closed his eyes, willing the images to settle into some kind of meaning. Part of his mind whispered for him to tread carefully, to bide his time until he could escape or rescue could find him, but other voices only tried to fuel his rage, or blanket him with a strange cocoon of futility._

"_It's not here," he heard himself breathe._

"_What isn't here, Dr. Jackson?"_

"_The damned weapon," Daniel growled, head snapping up. "The weapon isn't here."_

"_So I've been told," Ba'al confessed, placing the cup back on the table. "As I said, the Jaffa are not known for their intellect."_

_Daniel just stared, unable to articulate a question through the muddle in his head._

"_Yes, Dr. Jackson, they told me." The clone was suddenly bending over him without seeming to have taken a step, "how do you think I knew to come here? Believe me Ba'al is much too busy deciphering Merlin's other clues to waste precious resources watching you petty Taur'i bumble around." When Daniel didn't reply he frowned, a wary concern in his dark eyes. "Not quite recovered, are you? Perhaps another few hours in the sarcophagus?"_

_Longing instantly burned within him, but, at the same time, Daniel's gorge rose and he fought the urge to vomit all over Ba'al's boots. He staggered quickly to his feet, laboring to settle a thin film of normalcy over his features. "I'm fine."_

"_Really?" Ba'al took a step back, his eyebrows lifting in a look of grudging respect. "I'm impressed. Or perhaps my information is incorrect about the addictive nature of the Goa'uld sarcophagus on human physiology. I had understood it to offer a more…compelling…urge than the strongest narcotic on your planet – a taste that, once acquired, needs but a small reminder to unleash a truly breathtaking -" he paused a moment, eyes glittering, "desire."_

_Daniel swallowed the yawning hunger that Ba'al's carefully constructed words opened within him. The bastard's smile told him that the expression of disinterest he'd pasted on his face was blindingly transparent. Lying to Ba'al, lying to himself – he could do that; he had years of practice to draw upon. He just needed something to hang onto; something that reminded him of who he was. Anything. He brushed a hand against his temple, fingers reaching for metal frames that were not there. Dropping his hand he looked down at the soft black material of his pants and shirt, his feet bare against the deep carpeting. "Look, black isn't really my color, any chance I could get my own clothes back, I mean, I don't know where these have been." He plucked one hand against the fabric._

_Ba'al's smile didn't change as if he understood exactly what the human was trying to do. "I'm afraid they were too damaged, Dr. Jackson, and quite stained. But, there is something that I have that you might be interested in." He motioned to the door. Daniel stood quietly for a moment, eyes hooded in suspicion, but Ba'al merely gestured amiably for the archaeologist to precede him. The door slid back at his approach revealing two armed Jaffa waiting outside. The Goa'uld barely glanced their way as he drew Daniel along the corridor to the left, but the large men kept close behind the two, their presence guaranteeing Daniel's obedience._

_The archaeologist glanced around, a quick spasm of ridicule twisting his lips into a smirk – the Goa'uld were nothing if not predictable and the gold embossed walls of the hat'ak vessel looked like every other corridor of every other ship he had ever been on in the past ten years. Captured on a Goa'uld vessel going who-knows-where – yeah, that was a new one. Ba'al's constant chattering washed over him, barely making any impression on his mind as he struggled with the mixture of dread and anticipation that had accompanied the Goa'uld's words. Had he caught Vala, too? He was sure that she'd had time to make it back to the Stargate, but now his memories were so unfixed, so turbulent, that he doubted them all. The ship's corridors seemed deserted – the two Jaffa at his back the only two they saw on their ten minute walk from his comfortable prison to wherever they were going – but even taking out these two and attempting an escape was impossible given his current state._

_Ba'al had to reach out and grab Daniel's arm to stop his momentum when they reached their destination; the startled snarl and immediate reaction that met this simple gesture amused him even as Daniel pushed him roughly against the wall, blue eyes red-rimmed with rage._

"_Stop." The quiet word was directed past the human, still visibly trembling with anger, to the Jaffa who had stepped forward to protect their god. Ba'al reinforced his command with a steady glance before shifting his focus to his prisoner's face. The forearm across his narrow chest pressed him painfully against the decorated wall, but this bit of discomfort was well worth it when compared with the wild and utterly desperate expression on the scholar's face not inches from his own. "Dr. Jackson?"_

_Daniel froze, barely able to keep himself from levering his arm just a bit higher to press against the Goa'uld's windpipe and crush his trachea. He could feel the Jaffa behind him, hovering, and knew he'd be killed instantly if he managed to squeeze the life out of this…thing. Did it really matter? The unexpected question brought with it an overwhelming sense of uselessness and he relaxed his grip, straightening slowly._

_Ba'al adjusted his robes and nodded for his guards to take positions on either side of the door that was his destination, choosing to ignore the altercation for the moment. "I thought you'd like to meet an old friend," he quipped, pressing a stud to slide the heavy door aside._

_Blinking furiously, Daniel took one step past the Goa'uld to peer into the dimly lit cell at the shackled body gasping on the floor. What? Why would he…?_

vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

2 days previously

Cameron Mitchell returned to his position next to the crumbling and partially overgrown stone arch at the entrance to the forest ruins after his self-imposed and totally fruitless scouting of the perimeter. The mission reports had not prepared him for this. He supposed that he should count himself lucky that it had taken this long after reforming SG-1 for him to become one hundred percent useless on an off-world mission. Teal'c was deep in talks with the Jaffa who had taken refuge on this planet, in the hope that they might agree to meet with Bra'tac and take on some role in any reformed Jaffa government. Sam and Vala had taken off with Kre'bat to collect the standard mineral samples as well as some of the local plants that the Jaffa had found to be unusually effective in reducing fever and fighting infection. And now here he was, the proverbial third wheel, reduced to watching Jackson and his new best friend Lis'qan crawl around a bunch of rocks trying decipher Ancient etchings, while he pretended to protect them from nonexistent threats. Now he understood the whining tone he remembered from some of General O'Neill's reports. Give him a firefight any day.

Daniel sat back on his heels for a moment and stretched both arms over his head, twisting his neck from side to side past the stiffness that had built up in his spine during the morning hours. Movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention and he watched with amusement as Lis'qan scrambled nimbly over a fallen plinth to reach a line of text all but hidden by the overgrowth. Even though he was technically working on his third body, thanks to the Others, the wear and tear was starting to show leading Daniel to believe that he had gotten the same used model back every time – they hadn't even done anything about his appendectomy scar. He smiled to himself. Maybe it was Mitchell's apparently endless energy that was making him feel so old. He rose on his knees to look towards the ruined temple entrance and saw the Air Force colonel kicking aimlessly at the thick trunk of an ancient tree. At least Jack had had the ability drop off to sleep at a moment's notice – or at least pretend he was asleep - while doing his protective thing. Mitchell's pacing was starting to grate on Daniel's nerves.

He pushed himself to his feet, making sure to place his brushes back into the leather pouch which lay open next to him and grab the canteen that he'd propped against a stone nearby. Daniel stepped towards Lis'qan, quickly and gently correcting his use of the thin tracing paper and the charcoal he'd been using to make rubbings of the Ancient text before walking slowly to Mitchell's position.

"It's going to be a few more hours," Daniel admitted, leaning for a moment against the stonework and reaching up to adjust the green bandanna that kept the sweat from dripping into his eyes. At least Mitchell had the grace to attempt to hide his boredom. "You know, you don't have to hang around here. Why don't you head back to the village and help Teal'c?" he suggested hopefully.

"Yeah, that's gonna happen," Mitchell snorted.

Daniel rolled his eyes. "There's obviously nobody here but us – the Jaffa have thoroughly explored this area and about the only dangerous animal they've noticed is an overly friendly furry ruminant that has a tendency to step on one's feet if he stands still too long."

Mitchell rested his forearms on the butt of his weapon and tilted his head, expression neutral. "P3X-888."

"What?" Daniel straightened, startled. "You- you think I'm going to be dragged off by an Unas? Here?" he finally asked, incredulous.

"I'm just saying…"

"Oh, come on," Daniel turned his back and took a few steps away before facing Mitchell again. "You really think there are Unas on this planet?"

"No, but that's not the point, is it?" Mitchell asked calmly.

Daniel sighed heavily. "Then, please, tell me what is the point?"

"The point is," Mitchell drawled, "that General O'Neill is right. We – SG-1 – are stronger together. And I'll be damned if I have to listen to another lecture when we get back to Earth this time," he added.

"Wouldn't mind avoiding that myself," Daniel agreed after a moment, nodding. "Since Jack became general he's begun to enjoy those little speeches of his a little too much."

"Sounded like you got another earful just before we went through the 'gate this morning," Mitchell sympathized. Jackson's face had been flushed and his shoulders hunched when he showed up in the 'gate room to pick up his weapon, O'Neill in tow. Mitchell was just glad he'd missed most of whatever the general had been talking about; the only phrase he managed to catch was something about 'trust' and 'squirrelly'. Jackson hadn't even bothered to wait for General Landry's traditional "Good luck," before he'd stamped through the wormhole. Happily, his welcome by the rest of SG-1 on the other side, not to mention the opportunity to teach the eager young Jaffa about the Ancient language seemed to brighten his mood considerably. Mitchell stepped forward to accompany the archaeologist back to the obelisk he'd been studying. "That whole 'finger-in-the-air' thing he does…" he complained, leaning forward and gesturing in a solid imitation of O'Neill's familiar action.

Shaking his head, Daniel couldn't help smiling. "Yes," he answered Mitchell's unspoken question, "Jack wanted to make sure to remind me about all those seemingly harmless missions where he had to save my sorry, incompetent butt. Including the latest, of course. Just his way of telling me that I haven't changed much from that geeky pacifistic bookworm he met eleven years ago who didn't know one end of a gun from the other." He suddenly remembered something else Jack said and turned to Mitchell. "You know they're sending Colonel Emerson and the Odyssey here to cover us, right?"

"From what I understand the IOA wouldn't sign off on your off-world participation without it," the colonel eyed the archaeologist pointedly, curious as to how that little piece of information was going to go over.

Daniel stopped in his tracks. "Well this is going to get old real fast," he sighed, hands on his hips. "What the hell are they protecting me from this time?"

"Hey," Mitchell clapped his teammate sharply on the back, "give it time. They're just protecting an asset. That tie to the Ancients has got to come into play somehow in this whole Ori scenario, don't you think?"

Whatever Daniel was going to say was cut off by Lis'qan's approach with the completed rubbing. The Jaffa's once-white clothing showed many indications of his crawl through the greenery and his close proximity to the crumbling stonework within the ruins. Daniel smiled at the dark smudge across the young man's forehead where he'd repeatedly wiped the sweat from his brow with the same hand that held the charcoal.

"Dr. Jackson, I've completed the text from the second column," he held the thin paper gingerly by two corners. "There is but one more section of text." He looked up and nodded solemnly to SG-1's leader before addressing the scholar again. "You believe you can translate all of this writing?"

Mitchell hid a smile behind his hand. Jackson sure had found a fan among these people. The kid had been dogging the archaeologist's footsteps from the moment they emerged from the 'gate. Sam and Vala had filled them in on the Jaffa's past run-in with the Ori on his home world, so Mitchell wasn't surprised by his intensity – the hope of finding some weapon to be used against the beings who'd wiped out his family consumed the guy.

"The structure is what's puzzling me at the moment, more than the language itself." Daniel squinted at the symbols before noticing Lis'qan's anxiety. "But I'm sure it won't be too hard," he assured him quickly.

The young Jaffa frowned down at the pages that Daniel extracted gently from his grasp. "I did not know that the people of the Taur'i were so wise in the words of the Enlightened." He raised his fierce gaze to Daniel's calm one. "I did not know," he repeated, insistent.

Cameron Mitchell watched as Daniel's answering frown mirrored the Jaffa's. This kid was desperate for help. "Not all of our people can read this stuff," Mitchell gestured towards the Ancient writing, "Dr. Jackson here is our expert in all things Ancient."

"Well, I had a head start," Daniel added, sending a quelling glance in Mitchell's direction, "but I'm glad to share what I know." He carried the rubbings back to a fallen stone they'd been using as a makeshift work table and placed them alongside the previous pages. As the others watched closely, he ran one finger over the symbols, mumbling to himself.

Lis'qan's eyes darted between the man's slowly moving finger and his intent face before he noticed that the other Taur'i was watching him. He bit at his lower lip and slowly released the tightly clenched fists that he held against his sides. Stepping back to allow the scholar to continue his work, he struggled to keep his voice level. "Tell me, Col. Mitchell, what did Dr. Jackson mean by 'head start'? I am not familiar with that phrase."

Shrugging, Mitchell figured it was no secret. "Well, a few years ago Dr. Jackson actually Ascended. He lived among the Ascended Ancients for about a year before he was sent back." He watched Lis'qan's eyes widen in wonder.

"He lived among the Enlightened Ones?"

Mitchell was glad Jackson was so wrapped up in the translation that he hadn't noticed the Jaffa's voice squeak in shock. "Yeah, he did. But now he's just one of us again," he added, ignoring the little voice at the back of his head that kept asking him if he really believed that.

Lis'qan's head snapped back to watch Daniel, his face suddenly wiped clean of emotion as if he was embarrassed by his outburst. "Why was he rejected?" he asked quietly.

"He wasn't…" Mitchell's quick correction was automatic, his voice louder than he'd intended. Glancing at his teammate he noticed the stiffening of Jackson's back and the way his mouth had tightened into a harsh line. The colonel's mouth was half-open in explanation when Daniel's voice rose calmly in the silence.

"That would depend on who you asked." Daniel turned back to the young Jaffa, his expression carefully controlled. Motioning towards the pages he'd weighed down with bits of rock he shifted the discussion from an uncomfortable examination of his strange life to the Ancient writings. "It's a puzzle – well, not exactly a puzzle, more of a… well, let's just say that the Ancients wanted to be sure that only someone absolutely fluent in Ancient and familiar with the Arthurian myth would be able to read the directions to find the weapon."

"So the weapon is definitely here?" Mitchell lost all sense of boredom immediately.

"I didn't say that," Daniel warned.

"Well then what are you saying?"

"I'm saying that there is a story here, whether that means that we'll find the weapon on this planet, or this will turn out to be another clue to follow to its final location remains to be seen."

"So you cannot tell?" Lis'qan's voice held an edge of accusation.

Daniel raised both hands in frustration. "Look, there are three obelisks – a lot like we found on the world where Harry Maybourne had made himself king."

"Where General O'Neill recovered the Puddle Jumper that could travel in time?" Mitchell couldn't help interrupting – he'd discovered that it was never good to let Jackson get up too much momentum during his lightning-fast lectures.

"Yes, but these weren't left by someone from the future. These are all part of a story, and each obelisk contains a portion," he quickly added.

"Like chapters," Mitchell guessed.

"No," Daniel growled, squeezing his eyes closed momentarily. "The words are not written continuously moving from one stone to the next – they are placed on the stones in a pattern, as if the story was written down on paper, cut up into pieces containing a few words or phrases, and those pieces were handed to three different scribes to engrave onto the obelisks."

"Wow." Mitchell turned to take in all of the fallen stones. "These Ancients sure didn't want just anybody to come across this and be able to read it, did they?"

"No," the archaeologist repeated, turning back to the thin pages that ruffled in the slight breeze that played among the broad leaved plants growing thickly among the ruins.

Lis'qan stepped close beside Daniel, studying his face intently as he raised one hand to grasp Daniel's arm, tugging to turn the man's face to his. "Can you do it?" he whispered. His eyes glittered sharply.

The young Jaffa's plea touched an unhealed place in Daniel Jackson's heart, and his own gaze matched Lis'qan's intensity. "I will – I promise." His slight nod broke the tension and Lis'qan changed his grip to an awkward pat. Daniel handed him another pack of lightweight papers and a new piece of charcoal and gestured towards the last group of writings. "The sooner I have all the pieces, the sooner I'll be able to put the puzzle together."

"Then I shall continue at once." Lis'qan avoided Mitchell's searching look and made his way to the last fallen obelisk farthest away from the temple entrance.

Watching his teammate move quickly to retrieve a notebook from his pack before returning to struggle with the meaning of the inscriptions, Mitchell rubbed the sweat from his face. "Uh, Jackson?"

"Hmmm?" The absentminded response clearly indicated that the archaeologist was not listening.

"Jackson!"

"What!?" Daniel spun to face SG-1's leader.

Mitchell was unimpressed and leaned closer to his teammate to keep his words from reaching the young Jaffa's ears. "What the hell was that? You 'promise'?"

Daniel frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," he whispered, "how can you promise the guy? What if you can't figure it out?" Seeing the archaeologist's immediate retreat behind a tightly guarded expression, Mitchell went on hurriedly. "I'm not saying I don't have all the faith in the world in you, but lately we just haven't had that much luck deciphering Ancient clues, now have we?"

The silence between the two men lengthened awkwardly, the methodical scraping of Lis'qan's charcoal over stone loud in the stillness. "You mean _I_ haven't had much luck, right?"

"Don't put words in my mouth, Jackson. I just think it's a little early to be making promises." Mitchell jerked his head towards the Jaffa without losing eye contact with his stubborn teammate. "The guy's had a rough life. I'd hate to get his hopes up for nothing."

Turning back to the Ancient writing brusquely, Daniel clenched his teeth and felt the stiffness of his muscles from the base of his skull all the way to his toes. Hope. Sometimes it was all he could offer. "I have no intention of disappointing him."

"Yeah, well, 'best intentions' and all that," Mitchell sighed, crouching to grab Jackson's canteen from where he'd dropped it next to his pack. "Guess I'll make a water run and let you two get back to it then."

Whether or not Daniel heard him, he gave no indication and Mitchell, glancing back as he retraced his steps to the ruined entrance, saw the familiar dogged resolve settle onto the man's features. "C'mon, Jackson," he murmured to himself. SG-1's water-boy and cheerleader - that was him.

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**A/N: Almost up to the present, patience faithful reader. And, yes, this story is set before Col. Emerson's untimely demise. Thank you all so much for your reviews!**


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter Nineteen

"Odyssey to SG-1 niner. Colonel Mitchell, do you read?"

The tinny voice of Colonel Paul Emerson issued from the radio affixed to Cameron Mitchell's TAC vest, startling him from the semi-doze he'd fallen into in the sweltering late afternoon heat. Clearing his throat quickly, he shot forward from his slouch against the wide tree trunk and grabbed at his radio. "Yeah, Mitchell here, reading you loud and clear, Colonel. How was the trip?" He squinted through the rising ground fog and saw that not much seemed to have happened since he nodded off – Jackson was still bent over the tracings of the Ancient text, heavy books dotted around his feet and a notebook in his hand, while Lis'qan crouched quietly nearby, eyes wide, taking in every nuance of the archaeologist's movements.

"Not very scenic, Cam, but my frequent flyer miles are sure piling up," the amusement in the Odyssey commander's voice communicated clearly, and Mitchell allowed himself a smile.

"No pesky tourists hanging around?" He'd hoped that rerouting the Odyssey to cover SG-1 hadn't tipped off any Ori ships in the vicinity to Earth's interest in this system of planets.

"Not so much as a bug on the windshield, Colonel," Emerson responded. "Care to join us for lunch?"

Mitchell felt the first drops of rain touch his hand and scrambled to his feet, turning his field cap so that the bill sheltered his face. Lis'qan also rose to his feet, stepping to Jackson's side and speaking too low for Mitchell to hear. "Ah, just about dinner time planet-side, Colonel, and we're due to check in with Carter, Teal'c and Vala in the village." He checked his chrono. "Will contact you in two hours to report."

"Acknowledged, SG-1. Next contact 14:20 hours. Odyssey out."

"Hey, Jackson," he shouted to his teammate as he made his way through the knee high foliage, "you about ready to pack it up?"

Daniel didn't respond to either Mitchell or the young Jaffa at his elbow. Huddled over his work, the deep grooves etched into his forehead and the fixed stare behind his rain spotted glasses told Mitchell that things were not going well in translation land. Damn. For Jackson's sake he'd wanted this one to be a no-brainer.

"Dr. Jackson, the evening rains are beginning. We must go back to the village." Lis'qan reached out careful hands to retrieve the delicate pages from their stone desktop.

The movement caught the archaeologist's eye and he looked up at the boy in confusion, blinking as a fat water droplet splashed against his eyelid. He slid his notebook into the pack at his feet and scrambled to help Lis'qan roll the flimsy sheets into a tube and secure them in a long leather cylinder that reminded Mitchell of the box he used to keep his tinker toys in as a child. Mitchell made himself useful collecting textbooks and piling them at Jackson's feet, knowing from experience that the archaeologist would rather re-pack them himself. Lis'qan draped the carrying strap of the leather cylinder over his shoulder and waited for the two men to finish their clean-up before leading them towards the faint trail through the forest that would take them back to the village. Mitchell steered the still silent archaeologist into step behind the Jaffa, and settled himself to bring up the rear.

They'd only gone a few paces along the path when both radios clicked to life again. "Cam? Daniel? This is Carter."

Noting that Jackson was too engrossed in his thoughts to react to the voice, Mitchell sighed and reached up to his left shoulder again. "Mitchell here. Just heading to the village now. Should be there in about an hour."

"Might want to hold off on that," Carter responded. "Vala and I have been following a faint energy signature we picked up about an hour ago. Kre'bat says we're heading in the general direction of the ruins. If he's right, we'll be there shortly."

Mitchell reached forward to snag the back of Jackson's black t-shirt to bring the stumbling man to a halt. Glancing around, Lis'qan waited at the center of the narrow path, clutching the tube tightly to his side. "Got it, Sam. We'll hang tight here." He dropped his hand and hunched his shoulders against the drizzle. "Hey, Jackson, you with me?"

The persistent moisture was making Daniel's glasses ineffectual at best, and he grabbed them from his face and folded them into a pocket on his vest. "Yeah. Sam wants us to stand here in the rain instead of heading back to the village where I can get back to work."

Cocking his head, Mitchell smiled. "Yep. I think that about covers it."

"With the rain comes the darkness," Lis'qan advised. "We should begin our journey as soon as possible."

"Hopefully we won't be here long," the colonel replied, turning to survey the ruins in the dimming light.

After a few minutes, he noticed movement in the foliage several meters to his left. The large figure of the dark-skinned Jaffa came into view first, wielding a long knife to cut his own path through the forest. He bent one thickly leaved branch to the ground and held it away from his makeshift trail with one foot as Vala and Sam scrambled into the clearing behind him, Sam's attention fixed to her handheld scanner. Mitchell started forward immediately, Daniel following several seconds later.

Both the blonde and brunette bore signs of their rough travel through the brush, leaves sticking to their BDU pants and scratches and smudges obvious on both faces. Vala turned to spit something green and sticky from between her lips before she raised a wry face to her teammates. "Lovely planet, isn't it? If the humidity isn't enough, the sheer number of plants with thorns and stickers more than make up for it. Not that I wasn't thrilled to come along on your little wilderness jaunt, Samantha," she added, flashing a quick and completely insincere grin.

Kre'bat laughed, eyes glittering in the fading daylight, clearly taken with the outspoken woman. He greeted the two members of SG-1 warmly before moving to join Lis'qan further along the path. From the younger man's animated movements and quick words, Mitchell figured Kre'bat was getting a play-by-play of the entire day's exciting events.

"The readings definitely emanate from this location," Sam finally raised her eyes from the device to glance at the fallen and overgrown stonework. "I guess you guys haven't come across any Ancient technology lying around?"

"No," Mitchell assured her. "I think we might have mentioned something like that."

She nodded and began quartering the site, alternately holding the small device out in front of her and swiping one hand across the screen to wipe away the moisture. "It's weak – almost like the remnant of an energy signature than a live reading from something still active. It pervades the entire area rather than originating in one particular spot, but it does resemble the kind of readings we've seen from Ancient devices before – the altar on Dakara, the chair in Antarctica." Sam turned to Daniel. "I'd expect stronger readings if the weapon was here, but if it's not, why am I getting readings at all?"

Daniel's blue eyes met hers for an instant before he sighed and looked off towards the obelisks' resting places now shrouded in fog. "I'm still working on the translation."

Sam narrowed her eyes and took a step closer to her fellow scientist. "That there is an energy reading at all should be good news. It's closer than we've come in a long time, Daniel."

"Does anyone else feel like we're being led around on some hunt for untamed waterfowl?" Vala pulled the boonie hat from her head, adjusted the chin strap and replaced it before noticing her team's wide-eyes reaction. "What? Teal'c taught me that expression, didn't I use it correctly?"

Sam caught Mitchell's eye and kept a determinedly straight face. "It does seem like we're chasing our tails sometimes, but you have to remember that this weapon was built and hidden thousands of years ago. It shouldn't surprise us that it is hard to locate." She frowned up at the cloud-filled sky and turned back to take one last round of the ruined area.

"A simple map would have been so much more effective," Vala groaned loudly. "Is that too much to ask?"

"Ba'al sure seems to think he knows where it is," Mitchell commented dryly.

"At least, that's what he told _you_," Vala added with a smirk.

"Well he took an awful chance coming to the SGC for those 'gate addresses if he was just trying to pull the wool over our eyes." Flicking the cover from his chrono, Mitchell gestured towards the path that led to the village. "You just about done here, Sam? Emerson's expecting a check-in in less than two hours and I'd like to have an inch of dryness somewhere on my body by the time we get back to the village."

Carter shook her head, sending a spray of water from her field cap before tucking her scanner into a pocket on her vest. "The Odyssey can perform a much more thorough scan from orbit than I can do here." She patted Daniel on the shoulder as she passed, noticing her teammate's uncharacteristic silence before taking a position behind the two sturdy Jaffa. Daniel fell into step beside her automatically, leaving Vala and Mitchell to follow a few paces behind.

Squeezing out her pigtails as they walked along, Vala lowered her voice conspiratorially. "What's wrong with my Daniel? He hasn't said two words about these lovely ruins," she whispered, "that's not like him."

Peering through the now steady rain at the archaeologist's back, Mitchell blew out his breath sharply. "Nothing that finding a certain Ancient weapon waiting for us back at the village wouldn't cure."

"Hmpf." Vala shrugged in the warm downpour. "He's a bit obsessed with all this Ancient stuff, isn't he?"

His answering glare was definitely less effective from behind the veil of water that separated the two. "Yeah – imagine that."

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The steady drumming of the rain on the wooden roof coupled with the flickering lights behind the thin screens was almost hypnotic, and Daniel rubbed his tired eyes before focusing on the Ancient puzzle once again. He'd excused himself from the Jaffa council's feast as soon as good manners allowed, needing only to catch Lis'qan's eye to invite the young Jaffa to join him in the small building that had been set aside for his work. Trying out various theories on his intent student helped Daniel focus, and Lis'qan was more than willing to play the role of sounding board, even if he only actually understood one word out of a hundred that the archaeologist offered. After a few hours that only resulted in a growing sense of frustration, Daniel had grown silent, reaching for patterns and purposes among the cobbled together phrases of the Ancient tongue. Mitchell and Teal'c had checked in when they retired for the night, each knowing that any insistence that Daniel do the same would fall on deaf ears – what Daniel needed right now was success, not hours spent in fruitless tossing and turning.

It was some time after he'd finally talked Lis'qan into returning to his own home for a few hours of sleep when Daniel saw the first tenuous connection. Hands scrabbling for his notebook, he circled the long table, jotting down symbol locations and meanings before making careful notations in small but precise entries. Once he'd found the pattern, and had worked out the meanings of a handful of proper nouns, the story emerged rather quickly. His experienced fingers danced along the edges of the rubbings, sometimes absently tugging at the unfamiliar feel of the homespun shirt and pants that had been lent to him while his uniform dried. The words tumbled through his mind faster and faster, but he purposefully reined himself in, checking and rechecking, unwilling to make an error or an assumption that would lead to another dead end.

The sky was beginning to brighten as he stepped from the structure, and the cool breeze floated across his bare arms, raising gooseflesh and surprising a shiver along his spine. Pre-dawn on the humid, almost tropical world brought a crispness to the air and revealed an expanse of stars that rivaled those glimpsed on a clear night at Jack O'Neill's Minnesota cabin. Daniel rolled his shoulders forwards and back before linking his fingers behind his back and raising his arms to stretch the muscles that burned with fatigue. He wasn't finished – just because the story was translated correctly didn't mean that he understood its significance, but he knew what had to happen next. That was all he could ask for. One step at a time. He'd let his enthusiasm carry him away after his trip to Atlantis, sure in the knowledge that the weapon was within his grasp. Months later and no real results had been a crushing reminder of his failure, his responsibility for every life lost, every world turned to the Ori in this galaxy. He'd learned caution when it was almost too late.

He stepped away from the building and gazed around the sleeping village. Who would have suspected that the Jaffa, a race bred for violence and aggression, could turn over their lives so completely to peace and meditation. He hoped that Teal'c had been successful in his negotiations with the leadership here, that he had convinced them to accept a visit from Bra'tac and an invitation to participate in the formation of a new Jaffa government. A slight noise broke the stillness, and Daniel turned his gaze to the cluster of small homes set nearby. The flash of a light-colored garment caught his eye and he froze, wondering why all of his mental alarms had been triggered by a simple early riser. Straining his bleary vision in the dim light, he searched for any other sign of movement, but the figure was gone. Rubbing both hands along his arms he stepped quickly across the open ground between his building and the one assigned to him, Mitchell, and Teal'c as sleeping quarters, pushing the door open silently.

Teal'c reacted immediately to the subtle shift in air currents within the small structure. In one movement he sat up on the narrow cot and raised the zat in one hand to cover the door. "Identify yourself," he growled.

Daniel raised both hands in mock surrender, knowing that the faint light of the small lantern that hung from the center roof beam barely outlined his figure. "Ah, it's okay, Teal'c, it's just me."

A muffled snort erupted from the other occupied cot along the back wall, and Mitchell turned over restlessly, one arm dangling over the edge to brush the floor. Teal'c lowered the weapon and shifted to bring both feet to the wood floor.

"You have not slept, Daniel Jackson." The Jaffa's voice was barely discernable and Daniel took a step towards his friend.

"No, but I've finished the translation."

Teal'c moved to one end of the sturdy cot and motioned his friend to sit beside him so that their conversation would not awaken the sleeping colonel. "That is good," he nodded as Daniel lowered himself gingerly before sighing and leaning back to rest against the wall. "But did Dr. Lam not warn you not to tire yourself unnecessarily?"

"Mmm." Daniel closed his eyes and smiled. "I don't consider it unnecessary, Teal'c."

One eyebrow rose in the darkness. "Knowing you as I do, I am not surprised, Daniel Jackson."

Daniel leaned forward suddenly, causing a startled Jaffa to reach out one arm to prevent his teammate from tumbling to the floor. Chuckling and fully in control, Daniel turned to stare at his friend and raised one finger to tap the large brown hand that had grasped the front of his shirt. "Um, Teal'c?" The Jaffa released his friend slowly. "I was just going to wake Mitchell up; I've got to talk to him."

"Perhaps you should rest a few hours…"

"No." He shook his head firmly. "We can't wait. I've wasted enough time."

"It's not like I could sleep with you guys yammering on over there, anyway." The voice of the leader of SG-1 rose from the unmoving tangle of bedding at the end of the room. Mitchell's slim form, clad in the same type of sleeveless shirt and thin pants that Daniel was wearing, jerked upright with a groan. Leaning over his bent knees, Mitchell stretched flat, fingers reaching towards his toes before maneuvering himself to mirror Daniel's position with his back to the wall and his legs hanging over the edge of the cot. "What's up?"

"I have to study the text more to be sure of the exact meaning of the story, but I know where we have to go from here." Daniel related quickly. "In fact, I don't know why I didn't think of it before. Although the location has a number of different names – Avalon, the Isle of Apples - even the Jaffa here were unconsciously using the correct term to describe their new homeworld. That coupled with the clues we've already uncovered about Merlin's weapon…"

"Whoa, whoa, now, hold it. I just woke up, Jackson," Mitchell screwed his eyes shut and held up one hand as if to defend against the torrent of words. "Slowly," he drawled.

Daniel's mouth had snapped shut at the colonel's reaction, and now he turned a cool gaze to the Jaffa at his side. "Teal'c, what do the Jaffa call this world?"

Willing to play along, Teal'c tilted his head to the side. "Bren-Mek-Nok."

"And during the briefing, after hearing the story of Avalon, how did you translate it?"

Teal'c's eyes narrowed in sudden understanding. "Island of Fortunes. But that is not completely correct, Daniel Jackson."

"Right. You and I both understood that on an intellectual level, being fluent in Goa'uld. What does it mean literally?" Inwardly, Teal'c smiled, happy to see his friend revel in his teaching role.

"Islands full of fortune," Teal'c explained.

Daniel turned to Mitchell in expectation. The colonel blinked, wondering if his brain was still cowering somewhere under the covers. He had never thought of himself as particularly dense until he started working with Dr. Samantha Carter and Dr. Daniel Jackson on a daily basis. A poor Air Force colonel couldn't possibly compete with that brain trust. "Okay, just tell me, Jackson," he finally snarled.

"_Islands._ Plural."

Mitchell sat up straight, suddenly re-energized. "And from Merlin's secret notes and the addresses that Morgan gave us in Atlantis, we should have been expecting more than one planet associated with the weapon, right?"

"Yes." Daniel nodded tightly.

"So," Mitchell scooted off the cot and stood, hands on hips. "Islands. We're talking other planets in the solar system?"

"I think so." Suddenly Daniel's certainty vanished beneath Mitchell's searching gaze. The fatigue took over, and his head dropped forward over his knees. "I hope so."

"Good thing the IOA was feeling so protective, isn't it?" Mitchell couldn't help teasing the scholar, even as he saw how the man was faltering under the weight of his responsibility. They were following Jackson's lead here, and the burden of that trust was heavy. "I'll contact the Odyssey and see how fast we can get to other planets in this system."

"Perhaps the energy signature that Colonel Carter has found can be of some assistance in identifying appropriate planets to investigate."

"Brilliant!" Mitchell pointed both hands at the Jaffa. "Nice job, Jackson," he added more softly. "I'll go wake the ladies and contact General Landry while you grab some shut-eye."

Daniel shook his head even as he felt his body beginning to relax into the warm bedding. "I've still got to double check the story against some medieval texts I brought with me. The Ancient passages aren't lining up with what we know about Merlin and Arthur the way I expected." He felt his friend's large hand grasp his shoulder gently and dragged his head up to look into Teal'c's concerned gaze.

"Daniel Jackson." The Jaffa let the two words communicate his concern.

He closed his eyes, allowing his body to slump towards his friend. "Well, maybe for just a few minutes," Daniel murmured.

Teal'c stood and gently lowered the man to the bed. He pulled Daniel's glasses from his face and laid them on the floor under the cot as Mitchell approached.

"Is he okay? Maybe I should say something to Landry…"

"Daniel Jackson will be fine," Teal'c interrupted firmly.

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"Oh, man is he going to be pissed," Mitchell muttered as he, Vala, and Teal'c trudged back to the village from the Stargate. Teal'c's silence and stoic expression spoke volumes – he'd stepped back and turned his head to the side halfway through their check-in, distancing himself from Landry's decision with body language that screamed his disapproval. Vala's reaction was more…vocal, and Mitchell found himself in the uncomfortable position of closing down her sarcastic comments about Landry, Dr. Lam, and politicians in general while secretly agreeing with almost every word she said. Lam was still concerned about Jackson's recovery, especially once Mitchell let slip that the archaeologist was sleeping after working for 24 straight hours. He'd like to pretend that he'd been completely surprised by the general's decision to comply with the IOA, but he knew the pressures the civilian advisory board could bring to bear. The stuffed shirts had decided that Dr. Daniel Jackson's connection with the Ancients was too valuable, or maybe too dangerous, to allow him to travel freely with SG-1 until further notice, even aboard the Odyssey.

"General, what exactly has changed since you allowed us to take that trip to Atlantis," Vala had questioned. "Surely there was more risk travelling to another galaxy than a simple trip through this very quiet, very remote solar system."

"What's changed," Landry had snapped back, his voice made even sharper through the teams radios, "is that, now that the IOA has been brought up to date on SG-1 mission reports, they've become aware of Adria's threat. While they have completely disavowed Dr. Forsner's so-called research, they are not completely convinced that the Orici, with all of her advanced powers, cannot access Dr. Jackson's Ascended memories for some purpose still known only to her. Putting Dr. Jackson out there on a ship that we know is vulnerable to Ori weapons is not something they are willing to risk. End of discussion."

Mitchell was an Air Force officer and could only follow orders, but he wondered if the general realized just what kind of problems this decision could cause for the flagship team of the SGC. Lt. Col. Cameron Mitchell knew that the glue that held the reformed SG-1 together was not his leadership, no matter how freely its original members had welcomed him. If Daniel Jackson had left the program to travel to Atlantis as he originally intended, Teal'c would never have returned from his work with the Jaffa High Council. Samantha Carter may have come back at the order of the Air Force to deal with the Ori Supergate, but she'd never have agreed to stay on without the presence of her former teammates. If Landry tried to isolate Jackson in any way, the stresses within the team might tear them apart permanently.

"…so, anyway, Landry said you could stay here and work on the translations with Lis'qan as long as you check in with the SGC every 12 hours. And if we find anything on the other planets of this solar system, we're to bring recordings of any Ancient text back to you here for study." He knew he was talking too fast, and the glares he was on the receiving end of from Vala and Teal'c didn't exactly help. He glanced up from his examination of the scuff marks on his boots to sneak a look at Jackson where he stood outside the door of the small house he'd still been sleeping in a few moments before. Yet to change back into his dry BDUs, the archaeologist could have fit in easily with the serene Jaffa who moved about the village if one ignored the residual resentment that creased his forehead and tightened his lips above the protected circle of his crossed arms.

Eyes narrowed slightly, Daniel shifted his attention from Mitchell to Teal'c to Vala.

"Daniel, I…"

He didn't let her finish. "No, I get it." He nodded, a quick smile lifting the corners of his mouth but giving no light to his eyes. Mitchell let out a small sigh of relief.

"Well I don't," Vala insisted. "How is leaving you here on this planet while we chase the Ancient mystery any different from what just happened with the Hostans?"

"Perhaps this time, Colonel Mitchell will think twice before agreeing to take part in an unknown ritual with an alien people," Teal'c added grimly.

Mitchell kept his eyes fixed on Jackson, biting his tongue to keep from responding to the gibe. This was the fight he was trying to avoid.

"Well, I'm not going," Vala flipped her hair over one shoulder.

"Vala…"

"No, Daniel, I'm not leaving you here by yourself, no matter how nice the Jaffa are. Someone's got to make sure you do something other than work all day and night." She pointed one long finger at the archaeologist's chest and lifted her chin as if expecting a fight.

The smile reached Daniel's eyes this time.

After a moment of thought, Mitchell agreed. "Good idea. Keep an eye on him."

"I shall remain also," Teal'c announced.

Mitchell's gaze locked with Jackson's across the small patch of ground that separated the two. _Here we go._

The sounds of the waking village and the savory aroma of the morning meal drifted over them as Mitchell watched the awareness of the potential rift dawn on Daniel's face. Something close to panic shifted behind his blue eyes before he dropped his gaze and swallowed past the sudden dryness in his throat. "I appreciate your concern, Teal'c," he started, his voice thick with guilt, "but I think one babysitter is enough." The laugh that followed the comment might not have sounded completely sincere, but the teasing expression on the archaeologist's face was genuine enough to make Mitchell wonder if he'd imagined the earlier look of fear - until he remembered that Daniel Jackson was the foremost diplomat on the planet. "I'm sure Colonel Mitchell is going to need you," he subtly emphasized Mitchell's title, "especially if there are any more Jaffa on the other planets."

Vala stepped up beside Daniel and linked her right arm through his left. "Or in case Cameron needs to be carried to safety again." Vala might not have been conscious of the tension underlying the men's exchange, but her characteristic comment served to clear the air nicely, and allowed Mitchell to respond to the joke.

"You're just going to keep bringing that up, aren't you?" he quipped, with a grateful nod to the archaeologist. "C'mon, Teal'c, let's leave Jackson and his girlfriend alone, I'm sure they have lots to do." He turned to put some distance between his locator signal and his teammates' before grabbing his radio to relay the message that he and Teal'c would be ready for beaming shortly. Now he just had to explain the situation to Carter who was already aboard the Odyssey, making the necessary modifications to the ship's sensors.

Teal'c hesitated, but Daniel simply held out his right arm and the Jaffa grasped it firmly, forearm to forearm, before pulling his teammate into a quick embrace. "I require that you remain well until my return, Daniel Jackson," he stated as the two broke apart.

Daniel dipped his head slightly. "Take care of Mitchell."

The Jaffa merely raised one eyebrow before joining the leader of SG-1.

"Lord knows somebody has to," Vala shouted as the familiar whine of the Asgard beams filled the air.


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter Twenty

She knew better. She'd known the man for less than a year and yet she knew better. Daniel spoke about himself as often as she'd been invited to have drinks with the president, but those pretty blue eyes of his revealed so much to anyone who bothered to look – it didn't take someone who was as attuned to human male behavior as Vala to notice that Mitchell's news had hit Daniel hard, and behind his seemingly easy acceptance of his grounding that darkness behind his eyes was growing. He'd agreed to remain on the Jaffa world where escape to the SGC through an open wormhole was just a few miles away much too easily.

Before the beams that took Mitchell and Teal'c up to the Odyssey had disengaged, Daniel had retrieved his arm from her grasp and slid back into the men's cabin, and she hadn't even noticed until she heard the decisive click of the wooden door behind her. Initially miffed that her grand gesture to stay by his side in his enforced exile from SG-1 was being rejected, she'd grabbed at the handle to pursue him when his voice came through the crack she'd widened between door and frame. "I'll be out in a minute – just changing."

"Oh." She'd allowed the door to swing shut, realizing abruptly that the thin cotton garments they'd all been loaned for the night were not very practical for his usual style of aggressive research. As much as she'd like to tease him by not taking the hint, Vala didn't want Daniel to close himself off in reaction to her usual taunting – what she'd most like to do was to find the magic formula, the exact combination of words or tones that would draw out some of the deeply hidden thoughts that were slowly poisoning the man. Mitchell's insistence yesterday at the Ancient ruins that the only thing bothering Daniel was his obsession with the location of Merlin's weapon was bad enough if it were true – she believed otherwise. He'd been depressed on their journey home from Atlantis, almost feverish with activity when he returned, secreting himself in England far from anyone who might notice that anything was wrong, and then oddly emotional before and after her kidnapping by Athena. And during it all, something behind those eyes reminded her of her own attempts to distance herself from everyone around her just so she could forget, at least for a little while.

Vala stepped from the small platform in front of the house and looked around at the early morning activity in the village. Smoke rose from outdoor hearths as children carried water from the wells at either end of the settlement, and voices carried on the slight morning breeze – friends hailing one another, sleepy children squalling, and undergirding it all the deep rumble of men who gathered along the pathway to the meeting hall including the three Jaffa who had welcomed SG-1 so readily. She sighed heavily; this was the most peaceful, restful world she'd ever experienced. It gave her the creeps.

Looking more comfortable and ordinary in the standard issue green trousers and black t-shirt, weapon strapped tightly to his thigh, Daniel joined her in her silent appraisal of the villagers. At first glance, she decided, Daniel seemed a strong man who fit easily into the SGC mold – identically clothed, familiar in his very conventionality. But that very first time they'd met aboard the Prometheus she'd recognized that there was something different about this one – and it wasn't just because he had been the only one who'd been fast enough in thought and action to surprise her. Her own back-story was convoluted enough to serve as the basis for many of the Hollywood movies she'd watched on "team nights," at least those that involved alien snake monsters and ray guns, but Vala had wondered about Daniel's past for some time now, and how such a man became associated with the military establishment on the Taur'i planet.

His gaze swept past her quickly, lighting for just a moment on her welcoming grin as he watched the families, children held protectively in fathers' arms, Jaffa who would look more at home in battle armor wielding devices of torture than laughing with friends and gently taking leave of wives and daughters. Vala tilted her head to one side, her attention riveted on the teammate beside her. She wondered if this scene evoked memories of his life on Abydos with his wife. After quite a lot of wheedling, Vala had gotten Sam to tell her a bit about Shar'e, Daniel's Abydonian wife, and his decision to leave Earth, but those few words told her much less than Samantha's sorrowful expression. They'd lost many things – many people dear to them - over the past eight years, but both remaining members of the original SG-1 team had made it clear that Daniel's losses were not to become subjects for Vala's curiosity. She'd made an attempt with General O'Neill when they were watching over Daniel's bedside, but the military man had been less than accessible even with her considerable charms.

As she made her way through the underground hallways of the SGC, Vala had overheard different words being attached to the reticent archaeologist, words like "innocent" and "sweet." Vala gave a mental snort. Of course, most of the people who used terms like those didn't have much actual experience with Daniel Jackson under pressure, and under pressure was just about the only time Vala had ever seen the man. She'd been at the receiving end of his sharp tongue too many times for her to have any illusions about his supposed "innocence" - Daniel was no innocent. But he was unbelievably decent.

"Have I got my pants on backwards or something?"

His annoyed question made her realize that she'd been standing there staring as her brain continued to try to fit Daniel Jackson into any likely-looking slot within her experience and failing - again. Widening her grin she deliberately let her eyes linger on her teammate's physique, warmed by the fact that she could still startle an irritated blush out of the self-conscious scholar. "No, I don't think so, but if you'd turn around I could make absolutely sure," she batted her eyelashes flagrantly.

Daniel strode past her quickly, but she skipped a few steps to catch up before he'd gone very far. "Vala," he began, sighing, "I have a lot of reading to do today. While I appreciate your decision to stay here with me, you don't really have to stay _with_ _me_ the entire time."

"I want to help, Daniel," she insisted firmly.

At the door to the small building he'd procured as a temporary office and research center, Daniel stopped. "I know," he smiled, sincerely this time, she thought. "But you're going to be completely bored, and I'm sure there are more interesting things for you to be doing in the village than watching me read and make notes about the Ancient inscriptions."

She put her hands on her hips. "Don't shut me out, Daniel. You might at least like having someone to vent to about this ridiculous situation!" She could pick any number of alien locks, but getting the foremost scholar of the SGC talking was still a skill she had not mastered.

Glancing at the nearest villagers as if gauging the probability that they could hear Vala's outburst, Daniel grabbed her by the elbow and propelled her through the door, ignoring her faint protests. Once inside she shook off his grip easily and rubbed at her arm, her mouth opening to lodge a complaint about the rough handling. The words died in her throat as she raised her eyes to find Daniel's blazing with barely suppressed anger. _Oh, you don't scare me, Daniel_, she thought. Closing her lips into a firm line she turned her back and busied herself adjusting the oil lamps that stood behind diffusion screens on either side of the small room; easing the control mechanism to allow more fuel to reach the flame, she was rewarded by a warm golden glow that spread out through the room.

Daniel's notes and papers stood undisturbed on the large wooden table in the center of the small space, his partially opened pack resting beneath. Vala rose to her feet and yanked down the waist of her fatigue jacket, watching Daniel's anger wane as his gaze wandered to the Ancient puzzle he'd laid out so carefully the night before. She crossed her arms and sat back against a nearby stool, a patiently helpful expression on her face, hoping that she'd be able to annoy something out of the troubled man, some hint about what was bothering him at the moment.

"I don't need to vent, Vala," Daniel finally said, chuckling slightly under his breath, but never actually meeting her eyes, "but I appreciate the offer."

Chewing on the inside of her cheek, Vala waited but Daniel only smiled tightly and shrugged.

"You're sure?" she ventured, certain that Daniel was just being stubborn, refusing to deal with whatever it was. He was good at it, she had to admit. "Don't tell me that you don't hate it that the military types are figuratively strangling your efforts to find this weapon and end this merry chase the Ancients are leading us."

Daniel frowned, moving past Vala to kneel beside his pack, throwing shadows across his expressive features. He retrieved two thin volumes from his backpack, and rose to place them carefully beside the open journal bearing his notes on the translation of the Ancient stones. "They aren't 'strangling' me, Vala; they just don't want to admit that…" His voice tapered off as he flipped unseeing through hand-written pages.

Stepping closer to him, Vala put one hand on Daniel's arm. "Admit what? What don't they want to admit, Daniel?"

He didn't look up. "Nothing," he muttered, "just drop it, it's not important. What is important," he lifted the archaic chronicle from the desk and showed her the hand-lettered pages, "is finding the truth behind the myth of Merlin and Excalibur."

Vala tilted her head back and rolled her eyes at the ceiling. Circling the table, she waited until she was positioned directly across from him before trying again. "Is General O'Neill the only one you ever really talk to, Daniel?"

"What?" Daniel's head snapped up from his study of the old manuscript to find her awaiting his reaction. "Why would you say that?"

"Well, I know you don't talk to Sam, or Cameron, and you certainly don't talk to me – after dropping that little fact about your wife aboard Adria's ship you've shut up tighter than ever. Do you and Teal'c share thoughts and feelings over a dish of reyv'lak, or whatever the Chulakians are eating these days?" She frowned, toying with a broken pencil lying next to the text rubbings as if seriously considering the possibility. "You know, he just doesn't seem the 'emotionally available' type," she finally decided. "But then again, neither does the general from the few times I've spoken with him. He did stay with you in the infirmary, though," she added before Daniel could do anything to stop her stream of consciousness. "And he did seem to have your number – is that the expression? – after Mitchell came to see you."

Daniel's eyes narrowed. "I should be used to this by now. There really is no privacy on a military base," he observed tightly.

"Oh, well, you know," she leaned over and scratched at the thin paper with the metal end under the torn eraser. "You asked me to bring your dusty old books, and I just happened to be taking a short cut behind those curtain things that separate the beds in the infirmary…"

The ragged sigh was familiar enough to keep Vala's head down over the clever little sketch she was scratching into the thin paper - Gen. O'Neill, hair sticking up in all directions, wrapped up in the infirmary blanket next to stick figure Daniel with tiny Xs over his eyes. It was the silence that made her finally look up to find the scholar trying to hide a smile.

"I did, didn't I?"

She nodded brightly. "And, of course, I didn't want to interrupt two old friends shouting – I mean – _talking_ to each other, now did I?"

"No," Daniel replied slowly, "I'm sure you didn't. Not when you could hide and listen in. You've been hanging around Mitchell too much," he added under his breath. Daniel placed both hands on the tabletop and bent to try to get a look at Vala's drawing. "And from this one conversation you figured that I trust Jack O'Neill with all of my personal problems?" He looked up into her eyes, his lips twisted in disbelief.

"Come to think of it," Vala hurriedly dropped the pencil and put some distance between her and the silly drawing, "I had been hoping for more personal stories, maybe some fond reminiscences of your more colorful missions or exciting conquests of alien princesses." She immediately knew she'd said exactly the wrong thing, as usual, and turned to take back the flippant words, but Daniel was still smiling, albeit a bit sadly now. "I didn't mean…"

"I know," he nodded. "But still, sorry to disappoint. Jack's not big on the whole caring and sharing thing. He's better at the 'getting Daniel's ass back in gear' stuff."

"But you've vented to him before," she couldn't let it drop. "I've heard you on the phone at the SGC going on and on about bad decisions and stupid regulations and such." She'd never heard Daniel express himself so freely to either of his other long-time teammates – his relationship with General O'Neill must be something very special.

Hitching one hip onto a nearby stool, Daniel crossed his arms, hoping to bring Vala to whatever point she was determined to make soon so that they could return to safer, less Daniel-focused subjects, like his study of the Ancient text. "Yes, Jack has always been able to help me come to terms with the military mindset. He's heard me say the same things so many times before that I know he'll understand my frustrations and prod me into seeing the other side of the argument. But what does that have anything to do with…" His words stalled out as his brain caught up with Vala's crooked line of reasoning. "Oh. You think I – you want to be my Jack, huh?" He suddenly couldn't help remembering Vala impatiently mocking his attempts to get through to the Priors or the Ori-blinded villagers on any number of planets they'd visited over the past year. "Well, you're certainly annoying enough…"

"Daniel! Here I am, offering to help," Vala pretended wounded feelings as she pressed one hand to her chest.

He lowered his chin and shook his head slowly from side to side. Something inside Daniel was clenched tightly, both protecting and nurturing that wounded place in his soul, unwilling to bring it into the light. "Okay," he raised his head and met her eyes, suddenly intent, "you really want to know what has me worried right now?"

Aware that any sudden move on her part might stem Daniel's long repressed self-revelation, Vala stood quietly, inviting him with every ounce of energy in her body.

The shaft of filmy sunlight that fell over her face startled her and she blinked, holding up one hand to shield her face. Daniel spun, hand going reflexively to the weapon at his hip before he recognized the tall, thin figure framed in the open doorway. "Villene?"

"I – I am sorry to disturb you," the young Jaffa woman stammered, her dark eyes shifting nervously between the teammates. "I had been told – we thought you had -"

"It's all right," Daniel assured the woman gently, holding out both open hands in a gesture of friendship. "Please come in."

Kre'bat's oldest daughter, Villene, had been introduced to SG-1 at dinner the previous evening, her father radiating pride. As dark skinned as her father, the woman had made the village's hospitality to the Earth team her responsibility. She was the one who had taken their dripping fatigues in exchange for the light garments worn by the Jaffa in the heavy evening weather, and had made sure SG-1 had their clothes back – warm and dry and smelling faintly of sweet scented smoke – by morning. Vala noticed that the young woman had the rare ability to show up just when she was needed, and to fade into the background when she was not. As she walked forward into the golden light from the lamps, she turned her puzzled gaze towards SG-1's resident diplomat.

"We had thought you would be leaving us today, Daniel," she said, "and when you did not join the council for early meal, we assumed you had already taken leave."

"Our friends did leave, Villene, they were called away very early this morning and, I am sorry, but I didn't know your father and Stro'noc had not been informed." Daniel's lips tightened momentarily as he realized that he had allowed the tension between himself and Mitchell to distract him from his duties to his hosts. He'd assumed Mitchell had said the team's goodbyes and obtained the Jaffa council's permission for him to remain there while the Odyssey investigated the other planets nearby. Settling a smile on his face, he attempted to smooth over any diplomatic hackles. "I understand if you'd rather we leave," he gestured toward Vala, "we can head back through the Stargate…"

Villene's confusion was replaced by a warm smile. "I am happy to see you have remained – my father and the other council members were hoping to learn more of our Ancestors, and they will also be pleased." She placed a large basket filled with what looked like soiled linen on the floor and brushed dark, curly hair that had escaped from her thin scarf from her forehead. "But you have not yet eaten and the council meeting has already begun," she frowned, but her brow cleared almost immediately. "I can bring some of the lightbread and _gestra_ here, and perhaps some tea?" She nodded firmly, one hand already reaching for the door. "Yes. You will be more comfortable here than among those already at work."

"I don't want to inconvenience you, we have some food of our own," Daniel began, but a rude cough from the woman behind him interrupted him.

"Don't be silly, Daniel," Vala stepped forward quickly before her teammate could refuse the woman's hospitality – the homemade bread and sweet honey-like spread they'd enjoyed the evening before was a vast improvement over the standard SGC power bars and instant coffee. Turning her brightest grin on the young woman, Vala flipped her own dark hair behind her shoulder. "We'd love some breakfast, Villene. Let me come and help."

"It is no inconvenience, Daniel," Villene ducked her head slightly, eyes glued to the scholar's handsome face. "I will send two of the children to bring food, and to refill the lamps. I will also send a message to the council, but I am afraid they will not receive it until they turn from their meditation."

Vala found the girl's fixation with her teammate amusing, and bit down hard on her own tongue to stifle a smirk. She might as well be invisible – she just hoped Kre'bat's daughter sent enough breakfast for _two_.

"Thank you," Daniel replied. "Again, I'm sorry we surprised you. Do you think it would be all right if I continued working in here today?" he asked.

"Of course. Lis'qan was most excited about what you showed him yesterday. He will be very happy to find you here when the meditation is finished." Villene nudged the offending basket back toward the doorway with one bare foot.

Turning to flick a glance towards Vala, Daniel continued. "And perhaps you wouldn't mind if Vala observed some of your daily activities today."

His suggestion brought both women's attention to his face immediately.

"Hey…"

"Wouldn't you…"

Suppressing a grin, Daniel continued. "After breakfast, of course. Vala was just telling me how much she wanted to look around in the village today."

_Oh, I'll get you for that one, Daniel_, Vala thought and then realized he had quite easily maneuvered the situation to keep her at a distance, away from the chance to poke and prod at whatever was causing his disquiet. _Well, that plan certainly worked well._

Several hours, not to mention several unwanted lessons in pottery making and waterproofing later, Vala had managed to convince her new best friend to help her attempt to drag Daniel from his solitary study of the Ancient story into the sunshine to share a mid-day meal with the women and children of the village. It didn't take much persuading to steer Villene's feet along the path to the small building towards which her dark eyes had been wandering off and on throughout the morning. Wondering if the muscular Jaffa knew how smitten his daughter was with the Taur'i scholar, Vala remembered the girl's earlier words.

"Does the council meditate this long every day?" she asked as they approached the door to Daniel's makeshift office.

Villene shook her head. "Only one day out of eight do the men devote themselves to quiet reflection." She laughed. "My father tells me that some of our brothers find it very difficult to remain calm and silent for even that period of time."

"What about him?" Vala asked. "Kre'bat doesn't strike me as the 'peace and enlightenment' type. Looks more like a man of action to me."

Dark eyes flashing with something that looked like pride, Villene hesitated a moment before responding. "Many take one look at my father and believe that he is a brute, good only for fighting and violence. They do not see that it is not his body but his soul that is the strongest part of him."

Immediately on the defensive at the young woman's words, Vala forced herself to wait rather than reacting with an excuse for her statement.

Unaware of her guest's emotions, Villene pulled open the wooden door and ushered Vala inside with a smile. "Father tells me that it is Lis'qan who struggles most with the serenity of meditation. He says it is like trying to cage the wind when the scholar is intent on his pursuit of knowledge. I am sure, with all that Daniel has told him, this morning it was no different."

It didn't take long for the determined women to drag the archaeologist, blinking, into the sunlight. Daniel disentangled his hands from theirs, lightening what would have been his usual irritable reaction to a ploy like this one had it been perpetrated by Vala alone. The trio found themselves arriving at the collection of benches around the central clearing at the same time as the Jaffa council members, where Vala and Daniel were met with surprised and enthusiastic greetings. Stro'noc invited them to stay as long as they liked, asking the representatives of the Taur'i to think of themselves as members of the Jaffa community, while Kre'bat wrapped his arms around his daughter to communicate his delight. Of the entire population, only Lis'qan seemed at all uneasy about SG-1's continued presence, a reaction that worried both of them.

When the older children began clearing platters from the tables, Lis'qan pulled Daniel aside. He'd noticed the Jaffa hurrying through the relaxed meal, barely touching his food and throwing nervous glances at him across the table. Daniel had been surprised by the young man's attitude – he thought Lis'qan above all the other villagers would have been pleased to continue learning about the Ancient language Daniel had begun to explain yesterday. The grip he had on the archaeologist's arm was so tight that it was painful as he guided Daniel away from the gathering towards the outskirts of the community.

"I was told that you were leaving this morning, Daniel," he hissed, eyes scanning their surroundings for anyone who might be listening.

Attempting to tug his arm from the shorter man's grasp, Daniel stopped and turned suddenly, but Lis'qan only tightened his grip. "What's going on, Lis'qan? Stro'noc and the others don't seem worried about our presence – why are you so upset?"

The young Jaffa chewed at his lower lip and seemed to consider Daniel's question. "You must leave – at once!" he finally demanded, looking back over his shoulder.

Daniel raised his right hand to grip Lis'qan's wrist, hoping to draw the Jaffa's attention to the fingers clenched around Daniel's left arm. "What are you afraid of?" he whispered, trying to get Lis'qan to meet his eyes. "What's going on?" he repeated.

Lis'qan turned to reveal eyes brimming with tears. "I did not know, Daniel. Please, you must believe me. I did not know you were coming, or who you were." He shook Daniel's arm. "I only knew that we must do anything, _anything_, to defeat the Ori."

"Okay," Daniel's frown deepened as he tried to piece together Lis'qan's rambling words. "You didn't know I was coming…here, to translate the Ancient text. And you knew the Ancient text was important, so…" he tightened his own grip on Lis'qan's wrist to prod the man to fill in the gaps.

"Please," Lis'qan's demand had turned into a plea. "You and your friend must leave here; you must go back through the Chappa'i to your home before…"

Digging in his heels, Daniel used his heavier body weight as leverage and managed to yank his arm out of the Jaffa's death-grip. "Before, what?" he shouted, completely out of patience. One look at Lis'qan's trembling form convinced him to rein in his exasperation. "Just- just tell me. It can't be that bad."

Lis'qan now refused to look up at the Daniel's face. Focusing his attention on the ground he wrung his hands in front of him. "We receive news from other Jaffa worlds. Sometimes a family or group of free Jaffa requests sanctuary here, and the council listens to their pleas and decides whether or not to welcome them." He shuffled from foot to foot, wanting to flee, wanting to drag Daniel towards the path leading to the Stargate. "A few weeks ago we took in some others who had been Morrigan's Jaffa who had since fled Ba'al's service. They told us about the Goa'uld's obsession to find an Ancient weapon to use to defeat the Ori, and how Ba'al knew much about the Ancients and their devices."

As the Jaffa became more agitated while he recounted his tale, Daniel became still, his mind taking Lis'qan's guilt-laden words and churning them into clarity. "And you had no way of knowing that we'd show up here, and that I'd be able to read the Ancient words, so you…"

The dark head snapped up and Lis'qan's tears trailed down his cheeks. "So I sent a message through the Chappa'i –"

"- to Ba'al – "

The Jaffa nodded, unable to speak.

" – to tell him about the Ancient text you'd found here." Daniel was reaching for his radio before he realized that he'd left his vest in the cabin where SG-1 had slept the night before. He turned and raced back the way they'd come, hoping that Vala was still talking with the women gathered in the village center when he heard the first whine of engines over his head. Ducking against the wall to his left, he squinted up into the cloud cover to see the tail of the glider sweep past as explosions rocked the ground. Smoke and flames rose above the buildings that surrounded him and the sound of shouting and the distinct zip and twang of zat guns and staff weapons rose above the screams. Daniel cursed loudly, at himself for letting his guard down, and at Mitchell, Landry, Lam, and anyone else he could think of for leaving him here on this not quite as god-forsaken as he'd prefer planet with Vala. He glanced down at the Beretta in his hand and closed his eyes for a second before scanning both directions for any sign of the enemy.

"Come on, Lis'qan," he muttered to the dark-haired Jaffa at his back. "Let's see if we can find Vala and get the hell out of here."

vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

_Now_

_Tendrils of long dark hair were plastered to the man's bruised and bloody face as he raised his clouded eyes to Daniel's. Ba'al nodded his head in command to the large Jaffa that stood over the prisoner, and he reached down and jerked Lis'qan to his feet with one hand. Seeing Daniel's frown, the young Jaffa raised his bound wrists in appeal._

"_Daniel…" he breathed, a glimmer of hope beginning to burn away at the edge of his despair._

"_I see you know our friend, Dr. Jackson," the clone observed coolly, watching the archaeologist from the corner of his eye. "And I suppose you also know that it was his message that brought me to this world, ultimately resulting in your injuries and capture."_

_A cough spurted blood between Lis'qan's cracked lips and Daniel took a step backwards in reflex until the spasm passed. "Please, Daniel…" he begged._

"_Yes, Daniel," Ba'al echoed, turning to face the Taur'i. "Please tell me what we should do with this one. It was he that brought death to the innocent women and children of this planet. Tell me, what punishment does he deserve for bringing this much destruction?"_

_In the space of one blink Daniel realized that this was a test – that his decision here would determine Ba'al's next actions. His eyes were locked on Lis'qan's, but his vision was blurred, unfocused, memories of the deaths of enemies by his own hand, wound-ridden bodies piled up in Goa'uld palaces, entire worlds turned to fire, boys of Abydos with smoking craters where their chests used to be. There was only one fitting punishment for death, for the trail of bodies that stretched from this moment back to his very birth._

"_Kill him," Daniel said, the words feeling right in his mouth._

_Ba'al's eyes flashed in delight and astonishment. Grabbing the staff weapon from the Jaffa beside him, he held it out towards the black-clothed man. "Of course. Would you like to do it yourself?"_

_He snorted and tore his gaze from the young Jaffa's terror to Ba'al's studied indifference. "Would that make him any more dead?" He turned and strode back down the hallway, unhurried, and the spurt of liquid fire and thud of the body hitting the metal deck behind him barely registered in Daniel Jackson's conscious mind. There was no going back._


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter Twenty-one

Samantha Carter found Mitchell slouched on a chair in the commissary, feet stretched out on the seat across from him, intently tearing a paper napkin into long, thin strips. By the looks of the debris on his tray, this must have been going on for quite a while, probably since she'd notified him that it would take the Odyssey six hours to travel close enough to the nearest planet to scan it for the telltale energy signature. She lowered her chin, remembering the cold reception she'd given Cam and his explanation of Daniel's grounding on the Jaffa world by order of General Landry. Teal'c had stood stoically on the ship's bridge, eyes focused on the green planet that quickly diminished in the large viewscreen, taking his teammates with it. She'd seen that look before – that was his 'I'm going to say I told you so when this hits the fan' look, and she knew, until they all arrived back at the SGC when this mission was over, nothing could possibly get the Jaffa to say anything more on the subject.

Never before had Lt. Col. Samantha Carter seriously considered pulling rank on Cameron Mitchell. He may wear the same insignia as she did, but her years of experience on SG-1 made her, technically, the senior officer on the team, no matter what chain of command the brass was swinging at the moment. She'd never felt even the smallest twinge of resentment about Cam's posting as leader of SG-1, just as she'd never regretted her decision to transfer to Area 51 when the teammates went their separate ways after eight years of traveling through the Stargate together. She knew that lateral move into the pure research end of the program would take her away from the direct military hierarchy – that was the whole point, wasn't it? Getting her away from Jack's sphere of influence? She shook her head. She never imagined that she'd be going through the Stargate again with an SG-1 patch on her shoulder and someone else in the first seat. Never.

But, even admitting that, Cam's leadership had been easy to accept. He may not have been on an SG team, or headquartered at the mountain, but he had paid his dues in the F-302 program and was one of the most determined men she'd ever met. And, more importantly for the premiere off-world team, he rarely lost his enthusiasm. She'd trusted Jack's command, trusted in his strength and devotion to his team, and his uncanny ability to recognize threats that others might miss, but they'd all known that it was time for Jack to move on. They'd seen the fire in his eyes dim as the politics became more heavy-handed, and they'd watched him struggle with his new role as the guy who stayed behind and worried. He'd absolutely hated it. But now the team was reborn under Cam's energetic leadership, and Sam had been quite comfortable resuming her role as head science nerd, at least until now.

Sam knew Mitchell respected her, valued her experience and knowledge, and treated her as more of a partner than a subordinate. Any true _orders_ from him to the team had been minimal, usually under fire, and he'd earned back the immediate trust he'd placed in Teal'c, Daniel, and her very quickly. Trust - that was essential. The times her teammates had found that trust faltering over the years had been the most difficult both in terms of successfully carrying out their missions and in their personal relationships with each other. And while her military background told her that Cam was just following orders, she knew that thread of trust that tied him to the rest of the team was fraying badly.

On the bridge, in front of the Odyssey crew, Lt. Col. Carter had put her head down, finding that rusty old switch in her mind that allowed her to suppress the personal feelings that threatened to take over and focus on the immediate job at hand. Mentally dismissing Mitchell and his matter of fact statement about their mission and Daniel and Vala's extended stay with the Jaffa of Bren-Nek-Mok, she'd directed all of her attention to the board in front of her and to finishing the necessary changes to the Odyssey's sensors to search out the Ancient energy signature. When she'd looked up the next time, both Teal'c and Mitchell were gone.

Relinquishing the station to Lt. Nelson, Sam had thanked Col. Emerson and started down the corridor to the engine room to check on the settings of some of the control crystals, barely noticing the exchange of comments behind her before she felt a presence at her elbow.

"Colonel Carter?"

Sam was surprised to find the commander of the Odyssey walking beside her. "Sir?"

"Just thought I'd let you know that Colonel Mitchell asked that you join him in the mess when you'd finished your adjustments. I'm due for a coffee break myself, so I'll walk along with you, if you don't mind." Emerson's suspiciously neutral expression told Sam that the frosty atmosphere surrounding the three members of SG-1 was not lost on the officer. Damn. She didn't want to talk with Cam now, not until she'd had a chance to weigh her words carefully. Her initial impulse was to send a communication straight to Jack O'Neill, bypassing several layers of the command structure at the SGC, simply because she knew he'd understand. Or would he? She frowned. Jack would hate to be caught in the middle between loyalty to his friends and proper military protocol – that's why he had such a hard time during that year of command of the SGC.

"Sounds like the IOA is making pretty life interesting for SG-1, Colonel," Emerson commented as the two waited for the elevator for the lower decks.

"You could say that, sir," Sam agreed.

"I can't say I like civilians dictating military strategy – Mitchell must be fit to be tied." Emerson nodded for Sam to precede him into the small car. He positioned himself slightly in front of her, facing the doors, and pressed the button for the mess level. "It's hard to feel like you've got any control when your team is spread out over an entire solar system. Especially a team like yours."

"A team like ours, sir?" Curiosity drew Sam a step forward to peer into the colonel's eyes.

"You've got to admit, SG-1 is unique, Sam," Emerson smiled down at her. "It's what makes you so good – makes everyone else look to you for leadership."

Her own biting words and Teal'c's remote silence both openly directed towards SG-1's leader on the crowded bridge of the military vessel replayed in Samantha's memory. No matter how well disciplined Emerson kept his crew, the story was bound to circulate farther and faster than she could imagine. What was she thinking? They were at war – not a war like any they'd studied about in the academy, or that the most veteran officer had struggled through in the past – but a war with a powerful enemy that was all but untouchable by any weapon they'd yet found.

"All the pressure you and your team are under to find some way to counter the Ori," Emerson shook his head sadly, "I don't know how I'd hold up to the kind of scrutiny you guys are under every day. Makes me grateful that it's just me and my crew out here in the middle of nowhere," he chuckled.

"Colonel…"

Emerson turned to face her. "Sam. You've been here since the beginning of the SGC – SG-1 and those other initial SG teams went through hell together, and that forges a unique bond among teammates. Surely you've noticed how things have changed?"

She gazed at the Air Force colonel, wanting him to come to the point, and yet dreading that she wouldn't like what he had to say.

"You and Teal'c and Dr. Jackson treat each other more like family than colleagues, or even friends, and I'm not criticizing that," he added quickly when he saw the defensiveness harden her eyes. "It works for you. How many of the other original teams are still together?"

Faces of dead, crippled, or just plain gone soldiers, technicians, and airmen flitted through her mind. Hawkins, Hanson, Kawalsky, all the members of SG-10, Rothman, Frasier – even General Hammond had moved on.

"Maybe that was your strength, Sam, beyond Jack O'Neill's leadership, or Teal'c's intel, or Dr. Jackson's ability to make friends with just about anyone. Maybe it was the fact that you guys were committed to each other, personally and professionally, that kept you alive and confident enough to fight on." He turned back to face the doors as they slid open on an empty corridor. "But the rest of us poor schmucks," he smiled quickly to take the sting out of his words, "know that we'll only ever be on the outside of that family looking in." He clasped his hands behind his back and stalked off, nodding at members of his crew who made way for him.

Sam hurried to catch up. "If our commitment to each other makes us strong, sir," she threw back at him, "then you understand why leaving some of the team behind is so difficult."

Emerson stopped so abruptly that she had to skip to one side to avoid crashing into his broad back. "Some of your team is here, Sam. And I guess what I'm asking is, are you ready to abandon SG-1, the SG-1 that exists now, because of your loyalty to the past?" His eyes narrowed. "Tell me, Sam, did you ever even consider cutting your commanding officer off at the knees mid-mission when Jack O'Neill was your CO?"

Her righteous anger at Cameron Mitchell breathed its last, leaving Sam with a familiar set of knots in her stomach – the knots that resurfaced every time a situation got away from her, every time she had to let go of her need for control. Something of this must have shown in her face, because Emerson had laid one hand on her shoulder, smiled, and excused himself, suddenly remembering a staff meeting that he was conveniently late for. Sam had walked slowly towards the mess, hoping to patch together some kind of apology that let Cam know that she was still on his side without compromising her belief that this was a truly horrible decision. Her teammate's hooded eyes and fixed expression communicated clearly that Cam didn't want this any more than she did, and, she admitted, if she'd actually been paying attention on the bridge, she might have noticed that sooner.

Striding forward, she pulled out the chair at the end of the table and sank into it with a sigh. Mitchell pulled his long legs from the opposite chair and sat up, shoving the debris-strewn tray a few inches away along the metal table, expression guarded. She widened her eyes innocently, glancing from the paper strips to his face and back again. "I see your origami classes have paid off."

Mitchell's eyebrows rose slightly. "Oh, you're a laugh a minute, Sam," he attempted to enter into the light-hearted spirit of her comment but lost momentum immediately. "Done futzing with the sensors?" When she simply nodded, he gave her the opening she was looking for. "Anything else I need to know?"

She found a fascinating irregularity on the smooth table before her and began to pick at it with one fingernail. When she looked up, Mitchell was watching her from a tilted back position in the chair, arms crossed over his chest. "You mean did I go over your head and contact General O'Neill?"

"Pretty much."

Sam folded her hands tightly in front of her and straightened her shoulders. "No, Cam, I didn't. And I apologize that I even considered it for a moment."

"Huh." He shrugged. "Figured it had to happen sooner or later..."

"Cam."

"…just thought it would be over something where I actually disagreed with you, or Jackson, or Teal'c, not something I didn't have any more control over than you."

A grimace touched Sam's face briefly. "Not a 'killing the messenger' type thing."

"Right."

Nodding, Sam considered his words. "You thought it would come to this eventually? And you still wanted us all back on the team?"

Mitchell leaned forward and covered her clenched hands with one of his own. "You've led the team before, Sam, and Jackson is known for questioning orders, and Teal'c…"

"Yes, Colonel Mitchell?" The Jaffa placed his own tray on the table across from his teammate, nodded to Samantha Carter, and sat down.

Cam felt a slow smile grow on his face. "And Teal'c, well, I figured you'd just deck me sometime when you were totally fed up." He paused. "How'm I doin' so far?"

One eyebrow raised, Teal'c inclined his head as he spread a napkin on his lap. "Very well."

"I've read the mission files – I know you guys are tight, you've had each others' backs for years. Come on, you guys practically finish each others' sentences. And even though I realized it might end with any one of you pulling the 'experience' card and sending me packing, I knew I had to take that risk." He shifted in his chair and pressed a pointed finger to the table. "And if it ended right here, it would have been worth it."

Sam and Teal'c exchanged a glance. "But it will not end here, Colonel Mitchell," Teal'c assured the leader of SG-1. Mitchell accepted the implied apology without a word.

"What made you change your mind, Teal'c?" Sam wondered.

Fixing his dark gaze on the plate of food in front of him, the Jaffa loaded his fork with meat and potatoes. "I have not changed my mind, Colonel Carter. I still believe that leaving Daniel Jackson and Vala Mal Doran on Bren-Nek-Mok is a foolish and dangerous decision." Mitchell waited, nodding to himself. "That is why we must make our determinations concerning these other worlds as quickly as possible so that we can return there with great speed before the inevitable occurs to our friends."

Mitchell gestured towards his large teammate with his still pointed finger. "Now that's what I'm talking about. What do you say, Carter?" He turned his bright gaze to the blonde scientist.

She shoved her chair back and stood. "Based on their skewed orbits around the local sun, it's going to take us at least three days to check each of the viable planets in this solar system, and then another two to get back to the planet. I think I'm going to head to the engine room and see if I can coax a little more power from the drive crystals. Meet you guys back on the bridge?"

"Sounds good." Cameron Mitchell allowed a sigh to sneak out and rubbed at the tension that had just begun draining from his neck. God only knew how, but SG-1 was still his responsibility. "Jackson had better not get himself killed while we're gone," he muttered.

"I don't know" Sam smirked at her teammates over her shoulder. "It's been a while - he's about due."

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The Jaffa's grip on Daniel's arm in the exact same place that Lis'qan had bruised it a few hours ago, of course, felt like he was trying to grind the bones together. He'd stopped struggling three backhands across the face ago, and was still trying to spit all the blood from his mouth where his lower lip had split against his teeth. Daniel blinked at the golden light that poured from the screens on either side of the village meeting hall, stumbling as the Jaffa dragged him towards one of the two pillars that supported the roof near the dais. He scanned the room, seeing the SGC gear spread out on the long table, including both his and Vala's P90s, GDOs, zats, vests, and backpacks. Another Jaffa was looming over Vala, one hand clenched in her hair, her back up against the other pillar and a bruise already swelling her cheekbone.

"Hi, honey, I'm home," Daniel quipped loudly, earning a blow to his side from the meaty fist of his captor. He lost his footing as the pain shot through his midsection, and managed to drag the Jaffa's grip from his arm as he fell heavily to the floor. "Ow."

"Darling," retorted Vala, not to be outdone, "I was afraid we were going to have to start without you." She'd been run down by the invading Jaffa within the first two hours of the attack, and had been rounded up with the local women and children – those who survived the aerial bombardment anyway – at first. She'd shed the P90 when she'd run out of ammo, but her strange clothes had singled her out, and even though Villene and the other women had tried to shelter her, the Jaffa recognized what the Earth patches meant and dragged her off to the meeting hall. Still intent on securing the village, they'd bound her here and left her relatively alone with only two guards to watch over her. Two guards who must have received some very personal wounds, she guessed, as they'd both been unmoved by her irresistible charms. It wasn't until darkness fell and the sounds of fighting receded that they'd returned their attention to their captive.

She'd hoped that Daniel had made it back to the Stargate, but she also knew, deep down, that he'd never abandon her, even if it was the right thing to do. He'd led them a merry chase, apparently, she observed as the Jaffa released her and moved to assist his comrade, both wrestling Daniel to the pillar across from his teammate. Vala's gaze took in Daniel's bruises, and the wince he couldn't quite hide as the burlier Jaffa slammed his back against the wooden beam, while her own private tormentor yanked his arms backwards and lashed his wrists together around the post.

Daniel grunted in pain as the leather thongs bit into his wrists and his shoulders burned in protest. He and Lis'qan had worked their way towards the village center before they heard the stamp of boots and had to take shelter in a small meat-smoking shed. Peering through a small gap in the door, he'd counted twenty Jaffa hurrying past, the arched mark on their foreheads reinforcing what Lis'qan had already admitted – Ba'al was coming. Sending in his troops to assess his enemy and soften up the villagers was standard procedure. When the Jaffa had passed, he turned to the young man crouching next to him.

"Lis'qan," he began, searching through his pockets for a pen, "I've got to find Vala. Do you think you can make it to the 'gate?" When the Jaffa didn't respond, Daniel grabbed him by one shoulder. "Lis'qan – you've got to listen to me."

Eyes darting nervously between Daniel and the door, the young Jaffa swallowed. "I'm sorry, please, Daniel, forgive me."

Daniel sighed. "Look, we don't have time for this." He pulled the young man around until he could look into his eyes. "You've got to get to the Stargate." He pulled up the sleeve of the young man's robe and began sketching 'gate symbols on his forearm. "Dial this address, but don't go through the 'gate," he shook the man slightly to make sure he was listening. "Do not go through the 'gate, if you do, you'll die." Finished with his notations, Daniel took another look through the door. "When the wormhole disengages, dial it again. Hopefully Vala will still have her radio and General Landry will be able to make contact," he added under his breath. "Then hide and wait there. If they send a MALP – a machine like you saw before – talk to it. Tell them what happened."

"But what about you?" Lis'qan touched the glyphs on his arm almost reverently. "Daniel, they will kill you."

Shaking his head, Daniel's concentration was fixed on the small area he could see outside the door of the shed. "Not right away they won't, trust me."

Flexing the muscles in his legs and back to take his weight, Daniel tried to ease the pull of his bonds, but the Jaffa had other ideas. Grabbing a handful of Daniel's shirt he yanked the archaeologist towards him, causing lines of fire to shoot down his arms from his shoulders to his wrists.

The Jaffa thrust his face down into Daniel's. "My master will be pleased that two of his greatest enemies will soon be kneeling before him." He smiled, the predatory gleam in his eye growing as he watched Daniel struggle to keep his head pulled back, trying to put some distance between his face and the Jaffa's. Without looking up the Jaffa gestured to one of his men waiting near the entrance whose arms were full of Daniel's books and papers. Gritting his teeth and straining against the Jaffa's strength, Daniel watched as his painstaking research was dumped into a tangled heap. "When his ship arrives," the Jaffa growled, his breath washing over Daniel's face, "he will reward me greatly for your capture."

Glancing up into his taller captor's dark eyes, Daniel swiftly judged the angle and stopped pulling, using the Jaffa's own strength to plunge his head forward until his forehead smashed into the Jaffa's nose. Rewarded by the crunch of bone, a squeal of pain, and droplets of hot blood that splashed over his face, Daniel blinked against the sudden blinding headache as he felt himself snap back against the post at his back. "Yes, but you'll never be quite as pretty again," he panted through the pain.

The burly Jaffa was staggering, trying to stem the gush of blood with both hands, eyes blazing with fury and pain. Daniel knew retribution would come quickly and painfully, but he'd learned from Jack O'Neill that Jaffa didn't need an excuse to cause pain, and any opportunity to strike a blow against the enemy shouldn't be wasted. He flicked a glance towards Vala. Especially if it kept their captors' attention on him and away from her.

In the instant when his eyes left the enemy, the other Jaffa who had finished tying off his wrists stepped to his side and delivered a blow to the center of Daniel's abdomen that drove the air from his lungs. Tears that filmed his eyes hid the next blow, and the next, and his body rocked back and forth in time to the punches. Something gave in his ribs with the last blow, and the sharp, cold pain made him hiss in a breath past his clenched teeth. He laid his head back against the smooth wood and allowed a laugh to escape his throat. "Ah, yes, just like old times," he gasped.

"Look, he won't be able to tell you anything if you keep hitting him!" Vala's voice rose over Daniel's groans and the bloodied Jaffa's guttural yells. Daniel knew she was trying to do the same thing he was – get their attention – but he'd be damned if he let her get hurt just to protect him. His eyes closed as the memories flew past – so many others had been hurt because of him. He'd seen Vala burned alive once, at the mercy of the enemy while they held him nearby so he could watch. Nothing could make him witness something like that again.

Fortunately for both of them, another Jaffa stepped into the meeting hall; his aura of authority and the gleam of the gold emblem on his forehead forced the other Jaffa into stillness. Smaller in both breadth and height than the Jaffa who still seethed, blood dripping down his chin, near the captives, the First Prime of Ba'al wore his rank easily. About Daniel's size, with shoulder length brown hair and light brown skin, the First Prime paced through the room, taking in the prisoners, their gear, the air of tension among the guards, and the pile of notes and papers with a few quick glances. He wore the standard armor that Daniel and Vala had seen so many times before, with the zat sheath on his forearm, and a large knife thrust through his wide belt, but his face held none of the brutality or mindlessness that was etched onto the features of his followers. He stopped near the table and stroked one hand along the smooth length of a P90 before nodding to the Jaffa attending him. While the aide hurriedly collected rifles, zats, and ammo, he turned back to address his men.

"Leaving weapons near your captives is seldom wise." His gentle voice contrasted sharply with the power he wielded. "And our Master would not be pleased with the 'care' you are taking of the Taur'i documents. The Ancient writing is the very reason he is interested in this planet." His smile was feral. "Clean it up," he snapped and two Jaffa leaped to obey. Gaze resting on the broken-nosed Jaffa, the First Prime repeated himself slowly and quietly. "Clean it up." His eyes followed the Jaffa as he strode angrily to the door.

Daniel, silently observing the confrontation, noticed Vala's pale face over the First Prime's shoulder. Her mouth was set into a grim line and her eyes were wide, whether in fear or surprise he couldn't tell. But one thing was for sure – she recognized this guy. He jerked his head to try to get her attention and managed to draw her eyes for a moment. Frowning, he nodded to the First Prime, a question clear on his face. She shook her head, the movement almost too subtle to understand, and turned back to watch. _Okay_, he thought, _this could be a problem._

"Our Master will be here before morning. Until then, no one will question the prisoners except me," the First Prime let his glance settle for a moment on the Jaffa still standing over Daniel, fists clenched at his sides. "You will leave two guards outside this building, but no one will enter unless by my direct order, is that understood?" Not waiting for a reply, he walked the length of the hall slowly, only turning again when he reached the door.

"Leave us," his eyes were fixed on Vala as he raised one hand to indicate the door at his back. The remaining Jaffa trailed out, and the First Prime stuck both thumbs in his belt as he walked towards the prisoners. "We have much to discuss."


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N: Thank you all so much for your patience for this chapter – it turned out to be very difficult to write for many reasons, not the smallest of which is wanting this scene to be realistic. Now that my job had calmed down a bit, I should be able to post much more quickly. **

Chapter Twenty-two

Daniel watched silently as the First Prime approached, his footsteps measured and slow, eyes lazily wandering from Vala to Daniel and back again as if taking his time to decide which to approach first. Daniel was not fooled by the supposed deliberation and darted a glance at Vala, catching her staring at him intently. He frowned – unfortunately whatever telepathic thoughts she was aiming his way with those dark eyes were missing by a mile. Her expression however reminded him of Jack's "shut up and follow my lead" glare. He stretched tentatively, attempting to find a position that eased the shooting pain in his shoulders and the new sensation that rose from his left side – a cold, thin pain like the blade of a knife so sharp it burned as it slid through his skin. His tongue darted out to worry the split in his lower lip, finding that pain more familiar, more comfortable. Even his slight movements drew the Jaffa's attention, and he froze awkwardly under the enemy's scrutiny. Before the First Prime took half a step towards him, Vala's soft voice fell into the silence of the meeting hall.

"I wouldn't bother with him, Thellesan," she sighed, "he has no idea what I'm really doing here."

Thellesan remained staring into Daniel's eyes for a moment, an ugly pleasure sparking from the dark orbs, before turning to face Vala. "Why don't I believe you, Quetesh?"

"Oh, crap," Daniel moaned, eyes closing against the realization that they were more than royally screwed here. He knew that Quetesh – the Goa'uld that had taken possession of Vala years ago – and Ba'al had some kind of relationship, undoubtedly one in which they both intended to take full advantage of the other for personal profit. It sounded like Vala was already working on some sort of insane plan to try to manipulate the First Prime, but Daniel hadn't missed that look in the Jaffa's eyes – one that promised pain and lots of it. Whatever had happened between Ba'al and Quetesh, this guy had been in the middle of it somehow.

Vala chose to ignore his comment about her veracity. "If you and Ba'al are interested in this little world, Thellesan," Vala began, trying to flip her long hair out of her face, "I'm more than happy to give up any claim I might have to it and pretend I was never here. Surely you owe me that much," she added when the Jaffa continued his silent circling.

"Do I owe you, Quetesh?" Thellesan moved to the far side of the bound woman where he could keep an eye on Daniel across Vala's wriggling form, his thin smile completely void of amusement.

Vala finally resorted to blowing at the strand of hair that still hung in front of her face which had resisted every effort to cooperate and join its fellows behind her shoulder. "I'd think you'd remember that little favor I did for you on Spirrhon, for little or no reward, I might remind you." She met the Jaffa's hooded gaze from under her dark lashes. "It wasn't all business between us, was it?"

"My Master was very angry when he realized your deception," the First Prime told her, moving to stand very close to the battered woman and taking her chin in one hand. "In fact, I remember that anger was his usual response to any interaction with you. As it was mine." He dropped his hand abruptly and took a few steps away, sweeping his cape over his shoulder before turning back to face her.

Daniel struggled to open his eyes and nearly laughed at the scenario playing out in front of him. It was just too funny. Vala was standing there in an SGC uniform, dirty, bruised, both arms tied behind a wide wooden pillar, completely at the First Prime's mercy, or, more likely, lack thereof, and she was still trying to flirt with him. Unbelievable. His head dropped forward as the laughter took over, shaking his shoulders painfully and magnifying that cold/hot pain in his side. He blinked tears from his eyes in time to see both heads turn towards him, Vala's face filled with frustration at Daniel's interruption, and Thellesan's – well, his was a bit more hard to read.

"Sorry, sorry," Daniel gasped for breath as he struggled for control to ease his bruised ribs and strained muscles. "Don't mean to interrupt the touching reunion," he snorted. "I'd be happy to step outside if you two would like to be alone." His mirth suddenly transformed into rage and Daniel's lips twisted into a snarl, the surge of emotion leaving even more hurt in its wake. He felt the sudden insatiable urge to get this damn scene over with – he'd been here too many times to find any nostalgia in listening to some vain attempt at subterfuge, or in watching another of his teammates suffer. Once, just once, he'd like their enemies to be too busy for the obligatory 'taunting the helpless captives' routine and get right to the pain. He could handle it – he had lived through pain that no one should have to endure, had just had a very poignant refresher course in it actually, and his memories were capable of inflicting worse pain than this decidedly unassuming Jaffa could even dream about. _Look at me_, he demanded silently, _I'm a much better target than she is. _Time to inflict a little pain of his own for a change. "Although it doesn't look like you're his type, Vala." He strained to lean towards his teammate in mock conspiracy. "I'm afraid your act might be wasted on your boyfriend here," he hissed loudly, watching the fire ignite in the Jaffa's eyes to match that in his own. "The hair, the cape, the eyeliner - I'm pretty sure he's batting for the other team."

Even though unfamiliar with the expression, the archaeologist's meaning must have been perfectly clear to the Jaffa, and he moved towards the captives.

"Oh, look," Daniel continued, rolling his eyes. "Now he's going to have to prove his manhood by – "

The Jaffa's hand closed around Daniel's throat, cutting off his words and his breath, Thellesan's fingernails drawing blood as he squeezed sharply bringing his own face to within inches of the archaeologist's before shoving Daniel's head backwards to impact the wooden post with a loud thud. Daniel blinked slowly to try to clear his vision, feeling a prickling trickle of blood wend its way down the back of his head to his neck as his chest burned. He tightened his lips, refusing to follow his body's urgings to open his mouth, to gape like a fish to grasp at any molecule of oxygen that could find its way past the First Prime's grip. His eyes riveted to the Jaffa's, he refused to appear weak even as his legs threatened to ruin his whole plan by letting him fall.

He knew Vala was talking, pleading, doing her best to break Thellesan's concentration, but she was too far away, too removed from this little battle of wills to make the slightest impact. His eyes were drawn to the growing smile on his captor's face and he felt his own lips quirking upwards in a mirror image. The First Prime leaned closer, his face moving from Daniel's ever narrowing field of vision to bring his mouth towards his captive's left ear – his hot breath on Daniel's neck sending a chill coursing through his tortured frame. When the Jaffa spoke his tone was surprisingly light.

"I've been commanded not to kill you, Daniel Jackson of SG-1, but I've received no word whatsoever about this woman." His grip on Daniel's throat loosened momentarily and the Jaffa chuckled as Daniel couldn't help gasping in a great lungful of air before the Jaffa pressed his fingers closed again, in an even more crushing hold than before. "Perhaps I should simply give her to my Jaffa for entertainment while we speak privately. Is that what you'd like? You seem almost desperate for my attention," he whispered against Daniel's neck.

"Stop it, stop it!" Vala's shrieks finally rose above the rush of satisfaction that consumed the First Prime and he straightened, stopping to look once more into Daniel's eyes before he abruptly unclenched his grip, keeping his hand lightly against the man's throat. He felt the air his captive drew in past his fingers, watched the grimace of pain fall away from the pale face as the human's muscles collapsed against the strain and he fell to his knees awkwardly, his wrists still lashed together behind the post. He allowed the sweet delight of his control over his prisoner to flood him, but the woman's voice cut cruelly through his pleasure.

"Thellesan, please, it's me you want," she insisted firmly. Daniel was not playing this game properly – intentionally antagonizing the First Prime was only going to get him killed, then where would she be? She shook her head, knowing the selfish thought as an attempt her mind was making to escape from pain into shallowness. She had to get his attention, at least try to interrupt Thellesan's focus – she'd seen men and Jaffa who had been the object of the deceptively harmless looking First Prime's focus before. He'd learned from the best, after all. "I'm the one who tricked you into giving me Ba'al's codes," she hurried to continue, "I know he was probably not too happy about that and must have taken it out on you." Vala strained against the bindings around her wrists, feeling the skin break, but needing to get those few inches closer to the Jaffa.

Thellesan turned his head, wanting nothing more than to stop her persistent droning – her voice had always grated on his nerves. He casually struck out with his right hand, connecting sharply with her already bruised cheek, snapping her head around painfully.

Her gasp brought Daniel's head up almost as quickly. He forced one foot to the floor and pushed, eyes shut against the pain in his head, his shoulders, _oh God_, and his ribs. He was getting too old for this. A strained laugh forced its way out through his tortured throat as his mind supplied dozens of similar scenes when he'd heard the same words fall from Jack O'Neill's lips. Even now, even after all these years of brutal memories, Daniel was younger than Jack had been when they'd made their first trip through the wormhole together, wasn't he? Or maybe he'd just always think of Jack as older – stronger, wiser, having that innate ability to survive that Daniel seemed to lack. The pain kept his mind from adding up the years properly; he still didn't know whether or not he should count his year on the Ascended Plane towards his number of birthdays or not. Strange thoughts to be having as he struggled upright, using the firm column at his back for support, but, then again, if he had Jack's strength he probably wouldn't be in this mess.

The feel of bracing hands against his chest helping him to a more comfortable position against the wooden post was so welcome, so reminiscent of his strong friend that Daniel found himself almost sighing his thanks before the reality of the situation propelled his eyes open. The Jaffa was smiling slyly, hands flat against Daniel's chest, watching intently as the archaeologist couldn't stop a barrage of emotions from playing across his face before he slammed his emotionless mask back into place. "So, Ba'al doesn't want me dead," Daniel managed to say through a throat that felt as rough and hot as the sands of Abydos. "Does he want me dying?"

The First Prime's smile widened as he felt the human take his own weight, trying to push himself back into the wood in order to avoid his touch. "I have learned much," he began as he slid his hands down Daniel's chest, "about the strengths and weaknesses of the human body from my Master." He watched the blue eyes closely as his fingers defined each rib under the muscle, stopping when the man's breath hesitated and the delicate skin around the eyes twitched almost imperceptibly. "He has taught me just how far I may go in order to inflict the most…discomfort…" he increased the pressure of the fingers of his right hand, felt the bone beneath them give slightly, and studied the human's feeble attempts at control as the blood drained from his face, "…while doing the least _permanent_ damage." Thellesan kept the pressure steady for a moment, smiling into the prisoner's determined face, watching his teeth clamp tightly on his lower lip against crying out, and then suddenly shifted his hand and shoved its heel against the broken ribs.

"Nnnnnnnn," Daniel couldn't bite back the moan that tore from his throat, and felt his eyes closing to half-mast. The Jaffa kept him still against the column with his left hand, not that he could have done anything more than collapse again if he hadn't, which would probably hurt worse come to think of it.

"Now," the First Prime eased his hands from Daniel's body slowly to give him a chance to gather up his shattered control - too much loss at the beginning of their discussion with no sarcophagus stationed safely within reach would lessen his enjoyment considerably. He stepped back from the human male and tucked his thumbs into his wide belt to hide the trembling of his hands. It had been many years since he had such an opportunity before him with his Master still hours away from the pitiful planet, but he would have to force himself to exercise the firm control that he had learned from Ba'al's hand after his fall from grace all those years ago. Anticipation would be a key ingredient in his delight, he reminded himself. He turned to the woman.

"To answer your question, yes, Ba'al punished me for your theft of his property, Quetesh." Her gaze reluctantly left her teammate to settle on Thellesan, and he watched the anger and fear stiffen her muscles and remove the softness from her face. "I was stripped of my position and forced to guard the contemptible workers in his naquadah mines after your deception."

Vala forced herself not to look back over at Daniel, but his ragged breaths and the depth of his groans made her eyes itch in sympathy. She stared at Thellesan or 'Baby Ba'al' as he'd been dubbed by the Jaffa of his Master's rival System Lords. The scathing epithet had not hidden the truth that they had feared him. He'd learned the art of torture as one who had been born to it, and actually reveled in the screams and groans of his victims as Ba'al never had. Remembering the way Quetesh had pretended infatuation with the Jaffa and his revolting pleasures made Vala's stomach roil – happily the actual memories were faint, but the feelings they dredged up left their bloody footprints all over her mind. She simply knew that the "dates" she'd had with Ba'al's First Prime never involved the rather straightforward activities others had expected of her. Pain. There had always been pain.

"You seem to have regained your position rather handily," she forced a lightness into her tone. "Gold thingy all in place, giving orders to the riff-raff, you seem to be very much in control here."

Another of those humorless smiles twitched his lips upward and Thellesan moved towards her, one hand extended to curl around her right cheek. "I am First Prime," he merely whispered, thumb caressing her skin.

Vala felt Daniel's tension vibrate through the air at the Jaffa's touch even though she kept her eyes from her teammate. "Yes, you are," she agreed readily, hoping that Daniel was smart enough to keep quiet and let her take it for a while.

"For what _that's_ worth."

She closed her eyes against the frustration that overwhelmed her at Daniel's muttered comment. Thellesan's hand hesitated against her cheek and she quickly opened her eyes to try to capture the Jaffa's distracted gaze. She leaned into his hand, twisting to bring his hand back beneath her hair. His fingers closed automatically among the silky strands and she smiled. "What do you want, Thellesan?" she murmured.

He leaned closer, mimicking the intimate posture he'd shared with the male captive, to whisper into her delicate ear. Hand clenching tightly in her hair he forced her head back. "What do I want?" The First Prime stepped closer, pressing the length of his body up against hers. "Patience, now," he growled softly so that only she could hear, "soon…"

"Oh, please," Daniel coughed sarcasm into the silence and Vala felt the Jaffa's entire body shudder in response. Desperately, Vala opened her mouth to warn him that Thellesan's movement against her was just part of his strategy, but the First Prime thrust his mouth against hers, not in any imitation of passion, but using it as a gag to keep her quiet.

Daniel pulled recklessly against the bindings around his wrists, his eyes glued to the Jaffa's assault. "That wasn't at all predictable," he practically yelled, frantic to find a way to stop what he knew would happen to Vala. Dammit, no wonder the bastard ordered his men from the building. He fell back loudly against the wooden column, ignoring the sharper pain in his ribs since the Jaffa's little touchy-feely session. "God, can't you guys use your imaginations? Get a new playbook, try a little variety," he wheezed, his breaths becoming more painful as he struggled. "Leave her the hell alone!"

She felt his smile against her mouth and she wished she was one of those girls who could throw up on a moment's notice – that would certainly get Thellesan's attention. He broke away from her abruptly, one hand fisted sharply into her stomach to drive the air from her lungs and effectively silence her. She doubled over, tears streaming from her eyes, knowing that the unwanted tears would convince Daniel more easily than anything else that she was at the end of her strength. Dammit. Thellesan had played this perfectly, stealing her voice and displaying her body's weakness solely for Daniel's benefit. Her big-hearted teammate would agree to anything to keep her from the tortures of his imagination.

The First Prime rubbed the back of one hand against his lips to remove the bitter taste of the woman's mouth and moved quickly from his position in front of Vala, very much aware that she recognized his strategy and wary of her long legs. Now he must get rid of her while he furthered his discussion with the human male, or she was bound to interrupt, try to distract him as she had before. But he could not keep his gaze from roaming the injured man's face, seeing the intensity and passion that only thinly veiled the pain. His Master valued this one, and had described the human's depth of knowledge of his enemies in detail. The First Prime could see the intelligence behind the brightness of his eyes and had felt the strength of his body - knowledge was not what he wanted – needed – to test in this human. He wanted to hear him scream.

Daniel saw the victory in the Jaffa's eyes as the smiling First Prime turned towards him. _Aw, crap._ _Opened your mouth at the wrong time again, didn't you, Jackson? Story of my freaking life_, he thought. He dropped his chin to his chest and shook his head. It seemed his first snarky comment questioning the First Prime's orientation was right on target. A sawing sound penetrated his thoughts and he raised his head to find Thellesan standing behind Vala, cutting through the leather thongs that bound her wrists behind the wide post with his large belt knife. Without moving another muscle in his body he shifted his eyes to Vala's face, seeing the sudden sharpening of her expression as she felt the thongs part. _Okay, maybe this was a good thing after all._

Shifting his weight heavily, Daniel groaned and leaned his head back against the pillar, his mind thrown into high gear as he focused his gaze on the suddenly intent Jaffa. _Good. Let's keep that attention over here._ Thellesan had wrapped the long fingers of his left hand around Vala's right wrist and pulled her off-balance, causing her to stumble against the post and automatically try to catch herself with the other hand. Daniel grimaced and narrowed his eyes, allowing the anger that seemed always right under the surface these days, the anger that was fueled by every one of his failures, every death, every wound, every idiotic decision made by the American political machine to erupt.

"You really are a moron, aren't you?" he chuckled harshly. "I'll bet you weren't picked as First Prime of Ba'al by passing any kind of IQ test, either. Do you really think that handing over two prisoners – two members of SG-1 – who are barely alive will win you any brownie points?" He moved his head back and forth against the pillar, ignoring the growing knot on the back of his skull and the matching headache within it as he clucked with his tongue, carefully observing the mounting tension in the Jaffa's face. "I've met _artifacts_ with a better grasp of basic tactics that you."

Pulling Vala staggering along beside him, Thellesan lunged for Daniel, the knife's edge dancing along his throat lying bruised and vulnerable against the column. He would not cut him, no, that would be much too final. The Jaffa reined in his outrage and smiled up at the human's face. "You desire to die quickly, Daniel Jackson," he murmured, laying the flat of the blade against the motionless man's cheek. "But you will not." He felt a sharp pull against his left arm and tightened his grasp on the woman's wrist, grinding against the wounds left by the leather bindings.

"But _you_ might," Daniel whispered down at the Jaffa, a malicious smile on his own face.

Thellesan pulled back sharply, moving the blade to threaten the woman at his side. His eyes opened wide when he saw her standing calmly, his own zat in her grasp. With no warning he lunged, but Vala's fingers had found the button on its side and the gun sprang to life – she fired, falling backwards against his grip and managing to pull her arm free as the electricity enveloped the First Prime's body. The knife struck the wooden floor with a ringing sound, followed by the muffled thud of the Jaffa.

Daniel sagged, adrenaline spent. "Are you okay," he muttered, watching Vala rise slowly, rubbing her backside with one hand as she kept the weapon trained on her enemy with the other.

"I'm fine, you idiot," she retorted, nudging Thellesan with one foot just to be sure before she moved behind Daniel to release him from his bonds.

"Oh, _I'm_ an idiot," he breathed, closing his eyes for just a moment as he felt the leather pull against the ragged wounds he'd made in his own wrists.

"Yes, you certainly are," Vala kept her voice low as she gingerly loosened the knots that had been covered by Daniel's blood. "For a moment there I thought you'd actually picked up on the psychopath's appetites, but no," she grimaced as Daniel grunted in pain at her movements, "you had to go and play the hero saving little old me from being ravished by the evil villain…"

"Vala."

"…when all the while he was more interested in ravishing you…"

"Vala."

"…and just waiting for you to practically beg him to…"

"Vala! Can we just get out of here and continue this useless argument at the SGC?" Daniel felt the release of his bonds and took one hesitant step away from the pillar, left hand moving to press against his ribs as the pain flared. He heard her rustling behind him and turned slowly, watching her grab seemingly random articles from the table and shove them into one of the empty packs lying there. "Don't forget a GDO," he advised, watching her slam a clip into one of the Berettas the Jaffa had not carried away and stick it into the waistband of her pants. Taking up the zat again, she wondered how far they were going to make it before someone came to check on them.

"I know, Daniel," she replied tightly, not bothering to turn. She made sure she grabbed both medical kits and fumbled a bandage one-handed from underneath a couple of MREs. "We should wrap those ribs while we have a moment," she commented. She heard him move heavily behind her, a choked off gasp telling her that his injuries would make the trip back to the Stargate a painful one. She wondered if they should try to free some of the surviving Jaffa or just worry about getting reinforcements from the SGC before they were captured again. "Do you think we should –" she turned and closed her mouth carefully over her words. Thellesan was awake, holding his torso up from the floor with his left hand, while his right hand held the point of the long knife against Daniel's groin.

"Put down the zat, Quetesh," the First Prime growled softly. He could see her frozen figure out of the corner of his eye while he kept his attention focused on his target. "Put it down, before I'm forced to do something we'll all regret."

Vala's eyes bored into Daniel's, indecision pouring from her. The sharp point of the knife was invisible, stuck within his BDUs, telling her that it would take only a small movement for Thellesan to fulfill his threat. Daniel held himself still, eyes unfocused, face unreadable.

"Shoot him." His voice was utterly calm, devoid of emotion.

"If you shoot me," Thellesan's was thick with impatience and rage, "my spasms will castrate him – this I promise you."

She knew the Jaffa was right. "All right," she let out the breath she had been holding. "I'll put it down." Vala bent her knees, holding the zat loosely in her left hand.

"No."

"She has no other choice, Daniel Jackson," the Jaffa smiled, shifting his eyes slightly to watch the woman's continuing progress. He felt the iron grip of the archaeologist on the hand that held the knife as soon as his eyes flicked away from him.

Daniel knew that the Jaffa's position on the floor gave him little power behind the upward thrust of the knife. Ignoring the sudden flame of agony in his side he clamped his left hand hard against his ribs and leaned the strength of his right shoulder behind his grip on the First Prime's fist. The Jaffa dropped onto his back, pulling the surprised archaeologist down towards him, and towards the knife. Daniel heard Vala's frightened exclamation but had no time to think about whether or not he'd fall on the knife if she shot them with the zat now. Thellesan might be still feeling the stun from the zat blast, but he now had both arms available and the knife that Daniel had managed to thrust away from his body was moving inexorably towards him again. He let go of his ribs and added his left hand to the struggle, grunting, sweat dripping into his eyes. Already down on one knee, he dropped his other knee heavily into the Jaffa's pouch area, and was rewarded by the mewling of the infant Goa'uld and the sudden weakening of his opponent's grip on the knife.

"Vala!" he shouted as the knife tipped away from him. He felt the surge of the electricity dance over his body from where he touched the Jaffa before he heard the whine of the gun's firing, and as he slipped towards the floor, dazed, he saw the death smile of Ba'al's First Prime as the knife slid into the flesh of Daniel's thigh.


	23. Chapter 23

Chapter Twenty-three

"How long now, Chief?" General Hank Landry stepped behind the 'gate technician, the sour mood he'd started off the day with having steadily declined into impending spitting fury. A directive from the IOA before his morning coffee – before morning, actually – had set the tone. They had balls, Landry had to admit, laying down the law about Dr. Daniel Jackson and his "approved movements" with SG-1 before the dust from their last bright idea had a chance to settle. Agent Barrett had called last night before the general laid down for what had turned out to be a damn few hours of shut-eye in the VIP quarters to confirm that Dr. Forsner had been ensconced in a very private facility in an undisclosed location and seemed to have taken a vow of silence. He was still adamant that the only person he'd speak to was the same man the IOA was so insistent on controlling. Landry harrumphed. He'd worked with the SGC's premiere linguist for two years and had the backing of Jack O'Neill, but he had no illusions about his own ability to "control" anything that the stubborn civilian did. He'd wish the IOA good luck if he didn't wish them all a slow and painful death instead.

"Dr. Jackson and Vala are two hours late for their scheduled check-in, sir." Master Sgt. Harriman risked a glance up into his commanding officer's face. "But the 'gate…"

"I know, I know," Landry waved the man's intended advice away with one hand, frowning. "Between SG-17's emergency extraction and Dr. Jackson's reputation for laxity with deadlines, especially when he's pissed, we could be playing 'gate tag."

Harriman shrugged and slid his glasses back down to his face. The general's anxiety was contagious, and senior members of the staff all seemed to be affected. He'd heard the tension in Col. Mitchell's voice when SG-1 – or part of SG-1, anyway – sent its report on the first of the "Islands of Fortune" three hours ago, he could see it in the grim set of Col. Reynolds' mouth when he 'just happened to stop by' at the time for Dr. Jackson's check-in even though he'd been off-duty for hours, and he felt it in the growing unease in his own guts. Walter flicked a glance at Sgt. Nielson, his own relief, who'd managed to keep himself busy in the control room since he'd come on shift. Nielson nodded almost imperceptibly and Harriman breathed a small sigh, knowing that the sergeant understood that he couldn't leave his post right now. Not when all the experience he had with SG-1 and the Stargate program was telling him that something bad was about to happen. Or, more likely, was already happening. He turned back to his board. "Do you want me to dial P5R-118 and try to make radio contact? We'd have to reschedule a few things…"

Landry crossed his arms, staring down at the activity in the 'gate room in preparation for SG-4's second trip to Hosta and, for the first time in days, his anger began to lose its hold. Boxes and crates of supplies as well as three field-trained medics were assembling in response to the village's request for aid. The cogni had been stubborn, insisting that the practices and rituals they'd spent lifetimes honoring could not be completely false, but others in the village had been anxious for off-world assistance, especially after SG-4's linguist shared Daniel Jackson's translations of their sacred texts. Led by an older man named Eneas, these determined voices had overruled their council and requested any help the SGC was willing to give. Landry watched the faces of his men and women who were working steadily to prepare the humanitarian relief effort scheduled to go out in just under an hour and was thankful to see some hope and enthusiasm there. He knew how the constant struggle against the Ori's foothold in this galaxy, and the continued losses that were piling up all around them, had drained the resilience from these soldiers and airmen. Being able to offer a hand through simple things like food, building supplies, and medical treatment was doing more for the morale of his people than any presidential visit or commendation could. At least it was helping.

"Nah," he finally answered the waiting airman's question, trying to exude a level of confidence that he did not feel. "Let's get SG-4 well on their way, then we'll see if Dr. Jackson is picking up the phone." Landry turned to climb the steps to the next level, but the fleeting relief seemed to fade away the farther he progressed towards his office and the phone call to General O'Neill he'd been putting off all day. He glanced at his watch; it was only 4 PM SGC time – four hours later on the Jaffa planet – and 6 PM in Washington where Jack had been closeted with Hammond for the past few hours, trying to come up with a likely compromise to get the IOA off Dr. Jackson's back. Landry's head was spinning trying to keep it all straight, feeling like he needed a game board to keep track of all of his pieces – which was only compounded by lack of sleep and his own general annoyance.

Jack knew, better than anyone, the kind of stresses the bureaucrats' decision to isolate Jackson would bring to SG-1, and how easy it would be to fracture that unit – the unit that everyone looked to as their best hope to find a way to defeat the Ori. So far, Jackson, Teal'c and Carter had been willing to follow Mitchell's lead, but Hank knew that the team had been split up too much during the past few months to survive much more, with the Atlantis mission leaving Teal'c in the Milky Way galaxy, Jackson's continued solo trips in desperate search for answers to the Ancient's riddle, and then Vala's abduction. Even his own ill-fated attempt to get the team up to Jack's cabin for some down time had turned into some kind of crazy monster hunt.

As Landry trudged up the spiral staircase he remembered how SG-1 had managed to find each other after the Ori ships had stormed through the Supergate and made short work of everything Earth, the Jaffa, and even the Lucian Alliance had thrown at them. SG-1 had a way of doing that that rivaled the miraculous - hopefully they'd make their way back to each other this time as well.

Reaching his office, Landry checked over the report he'd received from the Odyssey about the first planet Mitchell, Carter, and Teal'c had investigated in the P5R-118 solar system. Flipping through pages of Samantha Carter's technical mumbo-jumbo, the general re-read her 'bottom-line' analysis. The same faint energy signature that the colonel had picked up on Bren-Nek-Mok had also been found on the new planet – only this time there were no Ancient ruins, no eroded texts to even tease at an explanation: this time the readings came from a volatile world with massive atmospheric disturbances which had played havoc with the Odyssey's sensors and beaming technology. If there'd ever been a human-type civilization on that planet it had been long before the atmosphere had become toxic, or it had been shielded by some sort of advanced device like the one that had protected Atlantis from the depths of the ocean. Carter judged that, like the planet of the Jaffa, the stale readings meant that whatever Ancient technology might have once existed on that planet, it had since been removed. After four hours of searching, from space and in hazmat gear on the surface, the Odyssey had determined that they'd found everything there was to find and moved off to the next target which they'd reach, Landry looked at his watch, just under eight hours from now.

No Ancient ruins – maybe that was good within the current scheme of things. When they did make contact with Dr. Jackson at least he'd have nothing further to add to his frustration. And hopefully the serenity of the Jaffa planet Mitchell had described would turn out to be just what the man needed to recover from the torture Dr. Forsner had subjected him to. Just what the doctor ordered, Landry smiled to himself.

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"Daniel!" Vala dropped the zat and lunged forward, hands grasping for a hold on Daniel's shirt to keep him from collapsing to the floor. He teetered unsteadily, eyelids fluttering from the shock of the zat, his left leg bent beneath him, right extended, the knife buried to its hilt in his thigh. "Stay with me, Daniel," she ordered, blinking away the moisture that flooded her own eyes. "Don't you leave me."

She could see the effort it took him to stay conscious, but he shook his head, unable to hide the wince against what it cost him, and opened his eyes, concentrating fiercely on hers. "Vala?"

"I'm right here," she whispered firmly, locking one hand in his shirt and moving the other to his face. "We've got to lay you down, can you help me? Daniel?"

"Yeah," he grunted, teeth chattering as a wave of cold swept over him, "down is good."

She slid her hand down to his left shoulder and guided him, letting herself be pulled by his weight until they both lay on their sides on the wooden floor. The sudden pallor of his face and the ragged sound of his breathing scared her, and she sat up, pulling his undamaged leg into a more comfortable position, using it to keep him steady. His right leg hung loosely from his hip, his calf pillowed by the bent left one beneath it. From the front, the injury looked almost bloodless, but moving carefully around him, Vala saw that the tip of the long knife had broken through the back of Daniel's leg, and blood was already pooling on the floor under him. _No. Not the artery._

Crawling back to the table that held their gear, she got to her knees and grabbed the med kits before shuffling back to look in Daniel's eyes. "Okay, Daniel, you know what I've got to do," she began, trying to keep her voice from shaking, "and it isn't going to be pleasant."

"I don't suppose we could just wait here for the cavalry to arrive, huh?" he managed to mumble as another shiver rocked him painfully. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment to try to gather some control. "If you take the knife out…"

"If we're going to get out of here, Daniel, I have to. And _when_ I take the knife out you're probably going to pass out, so at least you'll have a short respite from the pain," Vala assured him, tearing open two pressure dressings and laying them out beside her so that they'd be ready when she needed them.

Daniel watched her quick, confident movements closely, happy to have something to concentrate on besides his own body. He tried to shift his left arm from under his side where it was pressing sharply into his cracked ribs, but the slight move made the pain erupt again, and he could feel the bile rise in his throat. He managed to swallow feeling every bruised muscle in his neck when he did, before his lips pulled back from his teeth and he started to pant. "Morphine."

"No." Vala shook her head, letting the dark wave of her hair shadow the misery on her face as she readied two packets of powdered antibiotics for his wounds. She hated this. There was too much blood, the blood of her friends - first Mitchell at that horrible ritual in that Ancient temple and now Daniel.

"Vala…"

Taking a deep breath and drawing her determination around her like a shield she met Daniel's pleading eyes. "No. You won't need it when you pass out. You will need it when we start to move, and we only have a few ampoules, so we have to ration it out. Daniel," she smoothed his damp hair from his forehead, "you can do this."

He blinked and felt his lips clamp together in an effort to live up to her belief in him. He drew in a long, shaky breath through his nose and nodded once, not trusting himself to speak.

She rewarded him with a wide smile before lowering her hand to his mouth, silently asking his permission before she pressed her hand firmly over his lips as her left hand grasped and drew out the long knife in one swift motion. Her hand stifled the scream that managed to push past his defenses before his eyes rolled up and every muscle went slack. Vala felt the blood drip onto her chin from where she'd bitten into her own lip, but hurried to pour the powder over both wounds before she pressed the dressings against each side of his thigh, struggling to stop the flow of blood. Tying them off, she threw herself back to the table with their gear and found a few more thick gauze pads, adding them to the already soggy dressings and then circling his leg with the long elastic bandage she'd been reserving for his ribs, pulling it as tight as she could.

A loud groan let her know that Daniel was regaining consciousness. She quickly rolled him onto his back and knelt beside him, pushing up his shirt to examine his ribs. It was easy to find the breaks as the combination of his sharp grunts and the unnatural give in his side alerted her to their location quite easily. She glanced around until her eyes fell on the thick belt worn by Ba'al's First Prime. _Well, he certainly isn't going to need it_, she thought and hurried to untie the stiff fabric and slide it out from under Thellesan's body. She manhandled Daniel quickly and efficiently, knowing by his jerky movements that she did not have a lot of time before all of the pain was going to come crashing back down on her teammate. The Jaffa had been wider, so Vala had enough slack to tie the belt securely around Daniel's ribs after pulling it tight. Naturally he chose to wake up at the worst possible moment.

"Daniel, stop it. It's me, Vala," she whispered sternly, easily fending off his weakly flailing arms as she completed her ministrations. His eyes snapped open when she put one hand on his thigh to keep him from dislodging the bandages. She leaned over so that he could see her face and smiled. "Back with me?"

The frown she was so familiar with had deepened, but she saw his eyes take in the bruises on her cheek before searching right and left, his muscles under her hands tensing. "What…"

"Shhh," she took his chin in her hand and tilted him to face her again. "We're on the Jaffa planet, and Ba'al's forces are right outside the door. Remember?"

The confusion in his eyes cleared and he nodded. "How long?" His dry tongue flicked out in a futile attempt to moisten his lips.

"You were only out a few minutes, just long enough to get you patched up." She patted his cheek affectionately, feeling the dryness in her own mouth. "And once we get out of here it sounds like we'll have all the water we need." Her raised head drew his attention to the sound of rain falling on the roof of the meeting hall. In the silence between his ragged breaths another sound grew and Vala dropped her eyes to Daniel's once again. "Sounds like our peaceful Jaffa friends have started fighting back."

"I sent Lis'qan to the 'gate," Daniel whispered, shifting against the hard wooden floor, taking a survey of the different levels of pain shooting through him. The familiar sensation of shock was hovering nearby, but he fought it, bending his left leg and placing his foot against the floor. "Must have been hours ago," he added, using his left hand to push himself to a sitting position, finding himself glad that Vala was holding tightly to his right as the room began to spin.

"Well, whether or not he contacted the SGC is rather unimportant now, as we're hours past our scheduled check-in. They'll be coming for us soon," Vala assured them both. She waited until the dizziness passed and then stood, still clutching Daniel's arm. "Do you think you can stand up?"

"Only one way to find out," he sighed, struggling to find a connection to that anger that had kept him going during the Jaffa's torture. Daniel finally nodded and, pulling against Vala, managed to hop onto his good leg, steadying himself against the same wooden pillar that he'd been bound to for most of the evening. He found himself opening his eyes a few minutes later, huddled tightly against the wood as if it were his best friend as the pain began to recede. Vala stood uneasily in front of him, alarm clearly written on her features. "Morphine?" he asked again.

"Yes, I just gave you a half dose," Vala assured him. "Daniel," her words were soft and full of regret, "we can't stay here."

"I know," he muttered, smiling but still motionless.

Muffled shouts and the spurt of staff weapon fire came through the thick walls and Vala hefted the pack she'd hastily filled onto her right shoulder. She moved to Daniel's right side and slid her arm carefully around his waist, making sure she was well below the makeshift bandage around his tortured chest. She watched closely as Daniel allowed his right leg to take some of his weight, feeling rather than hearing the hiss of pain that accompanied his first step. With the Beretta still in her belt, the zat in one hand, and one of Daniel's arms across her shoulders she led him slowly towards the back door. Waiting a moment while he steadied himself against the frame, she carefully wedged the door open and took aim at the one Jaffa guard in sight who was staring into the darkness. The sound of the zat was drowned out by the plopping of the fat raindrops on the wooden roofs nearby and the distant rumble of larger weapons. Getting into position against Daniel's right side again, she smiled up into his eyes. "Piece of cake," she asserted.

Daniel clenched his teeth at the familiar phrase. _At least she's prettier than Jack_, he reminded himself, a long walk through the jungle of Nicaragua he'd made with a similar leg wound, one arm wrapped around the shoulders of a certain Air Force colonel, flashing across his mind. _Smells better, too._

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Samantha Carter shifted uncomfortably on the metal stool in the Odyssey's main science lab. She'd appropriated a corner of the large room for research into the odd energy readings she'd first picked up on Bren-Nek-Mok, and again on the fourth planet of the same solar system just a few hours ago. She'd tested them against the output of every Ancient power source they'd ever come in contact with, including Arthur's Mantle, the Ancient weapon on Dakara, and the chair in Antarctica but the readings had absolutely nothing in common with any of the other devices. A similar wave amplitude to the Ancient weapon was as close as she'd been able to come so far, but, even with the similarities, the differences between the waves coming from the fourth planet and the Jaffa world had her completely stumped.

She sat forward, elbows propped up on the work table, and rubbed at her tired eyes. Mitchell and Teal'c had been resting since their wearying trip to the planet, as ordered by the Odyssey's CMO. The two had struggled through the howling winds and surging radiation for hours in the hot, heavy hazmat suits, and even Teal'c looked the worse for wear when Major Marks had finally been able to get a clear enough reading through the continual storms to beam them back aboard. She glanced down at her chrono and sighed, realizing that she was due to meet them in the mess hall in just under an hour with absolutely nothing to show for her hours of work.

Pulling the laptop closer, Sam closed most of the open windows and left the wave forms from the two planets side by side on the screen. Generally, the waves travelled much faster on the Jaffa planet, slower on her sister world, but the wave forms themselves still eluded definition. She thought back over the comparison's she'd already made, knowing that she was going to have to expand her search. _Well, staring at them is not going to do any good,_ she surmised, standing up and walking quickly towards the door. It was still eight hours to the next viable planet in the system. _Maybe I can grab a shower before dinner._

"Colonel Carter?" Major Marks' concerned voice stilled her instantly.

"Carter, here," she replied, touching the com unit next to the door.

"Colonel Emerson just received a data burst from the SGC. He'd like you, Colonel Mitchell, and Teal'c to meet him on the bridge as soon as possible."

Sam was already through the doors before the major finished speaking.

She caught up with Mitchell and Teal'c in the corridor leading to the ship's bridge, both displaying the same signs of panic that she'd caught in her own reflection in the shiny plating of the elevator doors as she fidgeted between decks. Sharing a glance, the three stepped onto the bridge.

Emerson was waiting and gestured for the three to join him at the communication screen. "The data burst came through ten minutes ago, 21:15 SGC time," he explained, nodding to Marks. Sam stiffened, hearing the undercurrent of apology in the officer's voice. Mitchell had taken up his usual stance, arms crossed over his chest and eyes narrowed in an attempt at stoicism, while she could feel Teal'c station himself close behind her, as if to help her shore up her own defenses against bad news.

General Landry's face filled the screen, the activity of the hectic control room making a loud backdrop for his words. "Odyssey this is Landry. Advise SG-1 no contact made with Dr. Jackson and Vala since Odyssey's departure; scheduled check-in at 16:00 missed. Subsequent attempts at contact unsuccessful. MALP sent through at 19:45 immediately destroyed by staff blast. Colonel, you are ordered to make best speed back to P5R-118 to assess the situation. Advise SGC of expected arrival time ASAP." The familiar voice of Chief Master Sergeant Walter Harriman interrupted the general for a moment and he stepped out of frame. A second later he returned, face grim. "I am informed that the 'gate on the planet has been engaged, so we cannot make another attempt to dial in at this time." Landry's gaze seemed to pierce through the light years that lay between him and his flagship team. "Get the hell back there, SG-1. Landry out."

Mitchell twisted around until he made eye contact with Marks at the helm. "Hyper drive on line, Colonel," the man snapped, eyes focused on the controls in front of him to hide which superior officer he was really addressing, "estimated nine hours to the planet."

"Let's punch it," Emerson ordered as Mitchell was still in the process of opening his mouth. One flick of the control and the aurora-like glow of a hyper-space window filled the front view screen for a moment before the Odyssey plunged into the center.


	24. Chapter 24

**A/N: Here we go! The two timelines have come together, but don't expect these chapters to be exact copies of what you've seen before – more info and more scenes will be included. Thanks again for reading and reviewing.**

Chapter Twenty-Four

Trying to ignore the cramps in her legs and the burning in her lungs, Vala dodged through the darkness, twisting around the jagged branches that grabbed at her wet BDUs. The dense forest offered cover from the pursuing Jaffa, but made progress difficult, especially since it was pitch black and the incessant ground fog rose almost to her waist. She stopped to catch her breath, hands resting on her knees, and checked her compass. If this planet didn't have a daily relative humidity of 99% and a continual cloud cover, navigation back to the Stargate would certainly be simpler. Wiping a sleeve across her face, Vala fought against the panic that lurked in her thoughts. There was no time for that, she had to find a way to get them off this world, and quickly. She raised her head, searching the still branches above her head as if for inspiration, an idea – any idea. Her usual plan when faced with pursuing mobs of any nature had been to run – run fast, run far, and run alone. Now, well, now it was different.

She blinked her eyes clear and took a deep breath, straightening her jacket unconsciously. Moving off through the trees slowly now, her eyes sought out the signs she'd left to lead her back. A strangled cough coming from the underbrush to her left startled her into stillness for a moment before she relaxed, lowered her zat, and made her way to the shallow ditch well-hidden beneath thick plants and thicker fog.

"It's me," she whispered, sliding down to rest beside Daniel whose entire body stiffened then relaxed. "How are you doing?"

Daniel Jackson couldn't keep a short laugh from escaping before his lips clamped together in a tight line, choking back a groan. "Great. Just catching up on my kel-no-reem." His right arm was wrapped protectively across his ribs almost as if he were physically holding himself together.

"Huh," Vala turned the tip of the penlight she'd fished from the bottom of the SGC backpack they'd grabbed back at the village and checked the thick bandage circling his right thigh. "Napping in the face of danger, that's my hero," she muttered, her eyes coming to rest on the bright red that was visibly seeping through the layers of gauze, making a trail down his leg. The soil beneath him was saturated with blood. The bleeding must have started again almost as soon as she left him to scout out the enemy location.

Unzipping her jacket, Vala pulled her black shirt out of her pants and hurriedly tore a three-inch strip from around the bottom edge.

Eyes at half-mast behind his glasses, Daniel attempted to raise his eyebrows. "Going for a new look?"

"Oh, yes," Vala quipped, folding the material into a thick pad, "all the girls are doing it." She lifted the bandage away from his leg and slid the cloth over the jagged knife wound; trying to ignore his gasp of pain she pulled the bandage tighter to try to stem the flow of blood. "Actually, I just wanted to see if you were too far gone to appreciate it."

Daniel closed his eyes and smiled, letting his head fall back onto the ground. "Flirting even in the face of certain death, that's what I love about you." His voice trailed off to a whisper.

"Oh, sure," she watched, waiting for the bright red bandage to begin leaking Daniel's life all over the forest floor again, but it had stopped – again – for now. "All the men tell me they love me when they've got me on my back in the bushes, but the next morning it's all, 'don't call me, I'll call you.'" Vala switched off the light and lay still beside him to listen to the darkness. "They're still a good ways off. If we move quickly we might be able to…"

With an uncanny sense of direction in the pitch-blackness Daniel grabbed her arm, silencing her. After an entire silent minute went by and his grip started to ease she risked speaking. "What?"

"Don't." He barely breathed the word.

"Don't what?"

"Don't do that."

"Do what?"

His angry sigh fluttered the hair around her face. "Pretend I'm going anywhere."

Pushing herself away from him, Vala combed her fingers through her damp hair and flipped it behind her back. "I'm not pretending anything, Daniel. If we move now while they're still fighting each other we can make it to the 'gate."

"_You_ can make it to the 'gate," he corrected her.

"No," she began, getting to her knees beside him and taking hold of his right arm with both hands. "We are going to get to the 'gate, dial Earth, and get reinforcements." She shifted her weight, hauling Daniel to a sitting position. "There is no way I'm going without you."

Daniel couldn't help the agonized groan that pushed through his clenched teeth. How could such a tiny little person have so much strength and sheer pig-headedness? Where did she keep it? He was soaked to the skin, broken and bleeding, and every breath came with a new pain that sliced through his chest. Grinding his teeth together he ripped his arm from her grasp, wanting more than anything to get through to her that he was done, finished. He had nothing left. "Vala."

Rocking back on her heels she growled in frustration. "What, Daniel? Do you want me to leave you here, because that is not going to happen," she snapped.

"Yes, it is." Daniel reached up to grasp her shoulder. "You've got to get word to the SGC, get some fire power. We've got one Beretta, empty, one standard issue pack with everything of consequence removed, one knife, one zat gun and a GDO between us, and if I try to stand up I'm just going to start bleeding again, and you know it." He was using up too much of what little adrenaline was left trying to talk some sense into her and he felt himself give her a little shake out of frustration. "Use your head. You can be back in hours with three teams of Marines." When she began to argue he shook her again. "You can go faster alone, hell you were born to work alone." Damn that whiny edge his voice had suddenly acquired. "And you know I'm right."

"And what, you're just going to lie here in the bushes until I get back?" That little voice inside her knew he was right, knew he was a liability to her as wounded as he was. She had always been the first to bail out or improvise at any sign of trouble. Vala knew she'd gotten an extra large helping of that instinct for self-preservation at the root of every human being, and experience had given her the wits to escape any number of life-threatening situations one step ahead of her pursuers. Lately she found that instinct swamped by other feelings, other priorities, and the words that Daniel had spoken to her in that warehouse a few weeks ago echoed through her head again, _"You've been running so long it's almost second nature to you. You don't remember it, but you made a decision to __stop__ running. It's over. Now it's time to come home._" It was amazing how a group of people who believed in her changed her entire perspective. Well, that and an unstoppable intergalactic threat.

"Yes." His arm fell from her shoulder and she knew he was gesturing at the unseen forest. "They'll have a hell of a time trying to find me in this muck. They know we're going for the 'gate, so don't think I'm trying to be brave or noble or anything. I'm hiding in the dark while you're taking all the chances." He hated this and they both heard it in his voice.

"Right," she snapped, coldly.

"Besides," he grunted, gingerly lowering himself back to the warm soil, "there's more at stake. And you know it."

She bit the inside of her cheek and propelled herself to her feet. "Fine. I'll head back to sound the alarm, but if I come back and you're dead you are going to have a lot of explaining to do." Turning her back on his sigh of relief she re-zipped her jacket and placed both hands on her hips. "And don't forget, you still owe me dinner."

Forty minutes later, Vala crouched beneath a thick-leaved plant that only partially sheltered her from the driving rain that sliced through the thick air. Daniel was lying back there, bleeding, with no shelter from the incessant rain or the Jaffa that were chasing them – and either could mean his death. She blinked water from her lashes and looked up at the yellow moon that caused a slight lightening of the clouds overhead, just enough to outline the Stargate against the dark foliage that lay behind it. Two Jaffa stood beside the DHD, apparently more interested in watching the 'gate itself than they were worrying about someone slipping up on their position. Well, that made sense, Vala shrugged, based on the smoking ruin of the MALP that lay twisted to one side of the 'gate, and the muscle-bound oafs' convictions that they had completely neutralized the Jaffa village. They weren't far from wrong, unfortunately. She could use their over-confidence against them – it wouldn't be the first time that she took advantage of an enemy's condescension.

A few minutes later, the Jaffa were lying face down in the rain, and Vala was dialing the 'gate to Earth. Hopefully when they woke up they'd tell the others that she and Daniel had both escaped and they'd call off the search. She punched in her iris code and hesitated on the brink of the event horizon, turning to squint into the dark forest. "I'll be right back," she whispered into the night.

Daniel didn't notice when the rain began again. He knew this feeling, it was too familiar – the cold, confusion, inability to stay awake. When the darkness closed around Vala the last of Daniel's will to fight went with her and his body took over, the pain and blood loss leaching away his stubborn determination. His heart was racing, and he couldn't seem to breathe properly. The gash in his leg was bad, but it wasn't the only place he was bleeding. He could feel the pressure under his hand, the distention of his abdomen as the blood leaked from those little costal arteries under his ribs. _At least Class III shock_, his fuddled mind added up the symptoms. He couldn't get up now if he wanted to. His left hand searched ineffectually for something to grab onto, something to use as an anchor so that he could heave his uncooperative body into recovery position, but the supple branches of the bush under which he'd sheltered only bent out of his way. His arm flopped uselessly to the thick mud. Cold. He was so cold.

Voices came and went, some close, some distant, all yelling in Goa'uld. The flash of weapons fire and the stomping of booted feet disturbed him, but only for a moment and he quickly laid his head back down in the cloying mud. _Sorry, Vala… Jack_. The soundless apologies to his friends were his only answer to their insistent voices screaming in his mind, telling him to wake up, to fight. The darkness was growing, the outer darkness finally matching what had been mounting within him for months - a desperate certainty that this fight, the fight _he'd_ brought to them when all of their battles seemed to be over - was too much for him. He couldn't find the answer to the Priors; his words were left hanging in the air as the Priors set their staffs into the soil of world after world and smiled and _won_. Merlin's weapon eluded him, unwilling to be found by one whose supposed 'truth of spirit' had been drained out of him long before his life's blood would. Daniel Jackson opened his eyes and welcomed the darkness.

The bright white of the transport beam danced over his still form before winking out, and all that remained was a pool of blood and a man-shaped disturbance in the mud. The driving rain filled the indentation and churned the brown soil into the dark red puddle, obscuring any sign that anyone had ever been there.

vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

Carter, Teal'c, and Mitchell had retreated to the science lab after Colonel Emerson's repeated suggestions that the anxious teammates haunting his bridge get some rest started to sound more and more like orders. The Odyssey's scientists had each made a mumbled excuse and wandered off, leaving the space to SG-1's pacing CO, hovering Jaffa, and fidgety astrophysicist after a handful of minutes. Mitchell's eyes wandered over his teammates, watching Sam hunched over her laptop trying to convince herself that focusing on the mysteries of the Ancient energy readings would make the voyage go faster, like a kid on Christmas Eve who was sure that the faster he fell asleep the sooner it would be morning. Her eyes betrayed her as they strayed time and again to her wrist chrono, the fingers of her right hand pulling absently at the Velcro closure.

Teal'c's standard passivity didn't fool him either. He'd seen the Jaffa's carefully smooth features and hooded eyes before, claiming a detachment from the emotional morass that sucked at him, but this time Mitchell wasn't buying it. The spring-wound tension in the warrior's shoulders and the visible jump of his jaw muscles screamed his frustration as he stood against the wall. The _Many Moods of a former First Prime_ rushed through his mind, a crazy viral video that had made its way around the SGC a few weeks back using clips spliced together from various briefing sessions over the years, supposedly highlighting the Jaffa's unchanging expression. It was funny, but after only a little over a year working with the guy, Mitchell could see a world of difference in the height of a raised eyebrow or the angle of a tilt of his head. And the fleeting flashes he could glimpse beneath the Jaffa's half-closed eyes were a sure sign that whoever stood between him and the safety of Jackson – and Vala - was in for a world of hurt.

Rubbing at the back of his own rigid neck as he paced, Mitchell knew he wasn't handling the news any better. He wanted – he _needed_ – to do something, something that did not involve nine hours – _nine hours_ – of sitting on his butt letting his imagination supply too many possible scenarios that might meet them at the end of the trip. There was no way he would…

_Crap!_ "Nine hours? How could it possibly take nine hours to get back to that planet using hyper-drive? I thought that was supposed to be fast!" Mitchell turned suddenly and picked up a cup half-full of cold coffee dregs and threw it against the wall. He felt the embarrassed flush rising along his neck even as the tension that had consumed him drained back to an almost tolerable level. Leaning both hands against Carter's work table he closed his eyes for a moment before raising his apologetic gaze to hers.

Sam hesitated a moment. "Do you actually want an answer to that question or are you just venting?" she smiled tightly.

A decidedly smug grunt from Teal'c's shadowed figure brought Mitchell's gaze to the big man for an instant as he opened his mouth to respond. "Tell me, Sam. Explain why in the hell it's going to take us nine hours to get back to Jackson. I want details – lots of details." Anything was better than listening to the accusatory voices that swirled through his brain reminding him what a bad idea it had been to agree to split up the team. All those voices sounded like General Jack O'Neill right now, and even a long, boring lecture about planetary movement and relative velocity would be a welcome relief.

"Cam," she reached out one hand in his direction, letting it fall between them onto the metal surface rather than risk a sympathetic touch setting him off again. Sam sighed, knowing that they all needed the distraction right now. "The planets in this solar system," she began, slipping into scientist-mode, "have oddly skewed orbits around their primary." She punched some keys on her computer and then slid the device sideways on the table in front of her so that both Teal'c and Cameron could see the diagram of the 'Islands of Fortune' system. "This is the position of P5R-118 – Bren-Nek-Mok," she pointed, "when we left twelve hours ago. We traveled in a straight line to the next closest possibility, here," her finger jabbed at the dot on the screen, a full 90 degrees off the ecliptic from their original location. "It took us six hours to get there."

"And after four hours of fruitless searching on Planet Radiation, we took off for the next likely contender, here," Mitchell pointed to the green flashing dot that had been their next stop.

"Yes," Sam nodded and typed in a quick command. The flight path of the Odyssey blinked onto the screen, weaving a dotted path through the solar system before halting abruptly between the two worlds. "Now, look at the relative positions of the Odyssey and the Jaffa planet."

A footfall on the metal flooring told Mitchell that Teal'c had joined the discussion before the deep voice rumbled out its comment. "The system's sun now lies between us and Daniel Jackson's location."

"So?"

"So," Sam began, "our flight path has to take that into consideration. Even using hyper-drive we have to account for the strong gravitational pull from the planet's primary."

"And that's why it's going to take nine hours for us to find out what the hell's going on?" Mitchell's frustration was growing again.

"Unless Daniel or Vala makes contact with the SGC in the mean time, yes," Sam admitted gently. "But let's look at the situation realistically," she countered, tapping one finger unconsciously against the table. "What could have happened?"

Mitchell pushed away from the table and paced the length of the room, blowing a deep breath out of his lungs. "The Jaffa went postal," he suggested as he turned, "they weren't as peaceful and welcoming as we thought and were just waiting to get us into a vulnerable position before they attacked." He swept back towards them, daring any other interpretation.

"I do not believe that is the case, Colonel Mitchell," Teal'c cocked his head in semi-polite disagreement. "The Jaffa of Bren-Nek-Mok had truly renounced their warrior traditions and embraced a new way of life. They could not have hidden their true intent from us effectively – we had complete access to their village and its surroundings. I believe they were sincere in both their rejection of the Goa'uld and their reluctance to alter their isolationist ways with other free Jaffa."

"Maybe you're right," Mitchell replied quickly, "but maybe they decided we wouldn't keep our mouths shut and would reveal their location. You were pretty hot on their joining you and Bra'tac – maybe they didn't want any other Jaffa to know where they made their new home."

Sam looked at Teal'c, head tilted in consideration, but the Jaffa was not convinced. "The council seemed quite comfortable with the idea of Bra'tac's visit to their world. However, if something happened to change their minds…" he let the thought trail off.

"You think Daniel or Vala did something to offend them?" Sam wondered.

Teal'c met her gaze calmly. "I cannot imagine Daniel Jackson causing offense to the Jaffa. As followers of the true path they revered his close association with the Ascended beings of our universe, and welcomed his teachings concerning the Ancient site on their world."

"Okay," Mitchell accepted his teammate's logic – for the moment. "What about Vala?" He glanced back and forth between Sam and Teal'c but neither would meet his eyes. "You think she could have done something so bad that the Jaffa turned on them?"

After a moment, Sam shook her head. "No, not really. Kre'bat especially seemed to find her, well, fascinating."

"Indeed," Teal'c agreed, clasping his hands behind his back. "I do not believe that either one could have been responsible for inciting any acts of violence on the part of the Jaffa of the planet."

"Great," Mitchell stopped, hands on hips, to face the others. "So, what else could it be?"

"Well I doubt if it was the Ori," Sam ventured. "If an Ori ship had shown up, or if a Prior was sent to P5R-118 Daniel and Vala might have gone into hiding, but blowing up the MALP just doesn't seem like their style."

"Kind of a big coincidence, too, don't you think, for the Ori to arrive just when we find these connections to Merlin and his weapon?"

"Hmm." Two faces turned towards the reticent Jaffa. "Perhaps not." Carter and Mitchell silently urged him to continue. "We know that Adria attempted to probe Daniel Jackson's mind in order to find out the nature of the weapon the Jaffa on Dakara had used against her."

"Yeah, and we know Jackson was too strong for her." If there was one thing Mitchell did not want to do it was to rehash the incident that had gotten SG-1 into this situation in the first place.

"I see your point, Teal'c," Sam's eyes brightened as she turned to Mitchell. "Sure, Daniel managed to fend off Adria's pursuit of a specific piece of information, but that doesn't mean that he succeeded in keeping his entire mind shielded from her." She straightened. "Daniel has been focused on locating Merlin's weapon – almost obsessed with the need to find a way to fight the Ori. Even if she only had a glimpse into his mind, surely she would have caught onto that? Knowing how he's been working on Earth and on the Camelot planet, practically having to be thrown off-base to get any rest, do you really think he would have been able to hide it?"

A tense silence stretched out between them. Mitchell dropped his chin to his chest and folded his arms, the tight line of his lips betraying his struggle for control. "So you're saying," his voice was rough with bitterness, "that trying to keep Jackson safe by quarantining him on a planet that might have once housed Merlin's weapon actually played right into the Ori's hands?"

The sudden pallor of Sam's skin was answer enough. Mitchell raised his eyes to the ceiling, blinking. _Of course it did._ Every move they made did nothing but advance the Ori's crusade. Beating his head against a brick wall might actually be more effective than some of their recent missions had been.

"There is another possibility." Teal'c waited until he had the complete attention of both of his teammates. "Adria's intrusion into Daniel Jackson's mind happened long before he turned his research to the subject of Arthur's sword, Excalibur."

"That's right!" Mitchell nearly exploded with relief, pointing one finger sharply at Carter, but Teal'c's raised hand silenced his outburst and he nodded in apology, gesturing for the Jaffa to go on.

"Therefore, unless she had other knowledge perhaps given to her by the Ori themselves, she would still be concentrating on finding the Sangraal."

"Well we can't completely discount the fact that the Ori might be helping her," Sam unhappily raised the point.

"But, again," Mitchell interrupted before she could continue; "to find her exactly where we are at the same time is pretty fluky. I mean, she's got other things on her to-do list, like, oh, I don't know, converting the billions of people in this galaxy to Origin."

"While someone else who we know is looking for Merlin's weapon has all sorts of resources at his disposal," Sam cut in, "ships, personnel, technology, and can afford to chase down leads from one side of the galaxy to another."

Mitchell stiffened. "You can't be thinking what I think you're thinking."

The teammates exchanged glances, but it was Teal'c who growled out the name that had come to each of their minds.

"Ba'al."


	25. Chapter 25

Chapter Twenty-five

Dr. Bill Lee hit the rewind button on the remote for what seemed like the hundredth time and replayed the MALP's transmission frame by frame on the large screen in the briefing room. Landry watched silently as all eyes in the room searched the image and its filtered clones that were displayed in the other three section of the screen – infra-red, motion sensitive, digitally enhanced – wanting to find the clue that untangled the mystery of what has happening to their people on P5R-118. That the video image only lasted eight seconds before the MALP camera was destroyed in a flash of sound and light didn't give them much to go on.

The silence of the men and women sitting and standing around the conference table, including the usually garrulous scientist, only increased the sense of foreboding that had been building in the base since Dr. Jackson's first missed check-in. He could feel it in his bones, and he could see it in the faces and postures of the people under his command. This wasn't the buzz of excitement that ran through a unit right before they deployed through the 'gate for a difficult mission that presented as bursts of laughter or friendly slaps and punches that soldiers substituted for affection. No, this was the deep dread of a mission gone so FUBAR that it curled in your stomach and clutched at your heart, causing a completely inward focus that kept each person isolated within their own hastily reinforced walls of control. The imagination of a Stargate veteran was sometimes his own worst enemy.

"Anything else, Dr. Lee?" Landry's voice started the scientist out of his mindless button pressing and he turned to blink at the general.

"Ah, no, sir," he muttered. "There just wasn't enough time between the MALPs reintegration and the blast to pick up anything. And the only thing on audio is the sound of rainfall – no voices of any kind."

"Thank you," Landry nodded. "Dismissed." He watched Lee glance around at the three SG teams and other personnel who were cramping the briefing room, knowing that the man was looking for an empty corner where he could hunker down, "fly-on-the-wall" style, and listen to the discussion. The general had more trouble limiting the number of people involved in the situation than in getting volunteers. SOP when trouble threatened any of the members of SG-1, but, Landry had learned, doubly so when the one in danger was a certain archaeologist.

The scientist clutched his files to his chest and lowered his head, moving towards the door and Landry turned to his left, his mind already moving on to the next detail. "Dr. Lam, is there anything we should be concerned about in regards to Dr. Jackson's health? Any medications you have him on that he might need?"

Carolyn Lam shook her head once. "No. The only lingering symptom from his… injury," she clasped her hands tightly together on the table in front of her, "was a headache and difficulty focusing. His instructions from me were just to eat and sleep regularly." She hesitated when she heard the not quite muffled snort from Colonel Reynolds sitting across from her. "If he did have some kind of relapse, I imagine Vala would have dialed in for help."

"A medical problem wouldn't have blown up the MALP, sir," Major Huntington of SG-7 observed dryly.

Landry threw a sharp glance his way. "Granted." He placed both hands flat on the table. "What little intel we have tells us that Dr. Jackson and Vala are in some kind of trouble, unable to access the 'gate or their radios, or too out of range for contact. The Odyssey is en route, but the information we just received from Colonel Emerson puts them another eight hours from the planet."

"Sir –" Reynolds began.

"I know what you're going to say, Colonel, but without a clearer picture of what's going on…"

The base klaxons blared, drowning out any further words from the general, and all eyes turned towards the window that looked down onto the Stargate, faces bathed with the red warning lights as they waited for the technician's words.

"Unscheduled off-world activation!"

Every chair was pushed back abruptly as men and women lurched to their feet, all aimed at the single staircase in the back of the room. Lam was quicker than all of them, having moved before the announcement, her slim form slipping between two bulky airmen who automatically made room for the base CMO. The general's barked command halted all other movement, identifying the leaders of SGs 3, 7, and 9 to accompany him as he hurried out, leaving the other airmen and marines to try to shoulder a position at the glass.

Before Landry stepped off the stairs, Harriman spoke again. "It's SG-1's iris code, general," his voice carried through the base speakers and Landry watched the SFs come to full alert in the 'gate room just as Dr. Lam hurried over to the medical team that had been stationed out of the way for the past few hours.

"Open the iris," Landry growled, noting that his men were ready for any possible threat. The metal-on-metal swish of the protective shield filled the 'gate room and Landry stiffened, forcing himself to stay there, not to run headlong towards the 'gate until the threat had been assessed. A moment passed, and then another. Just as he was ready to order another attempt at radio contact a single dark haired figure appeared on the ramp, took one step, and fell to her knees. Her tired voice rose above the sudden silence.

"Close it."

Landry wasted no time, and, already moving towards the door repeated the command. He heard the wormhole disengage as Reynolds and the other team leaders followed him down the steps and onto the metal ramp, where Dr. Lam was kneeling next to Vala. Holding the woman steady with one hand, Carolyn took hold of her chin and raised her head so that she could see her face.

Vala blinked unsteadily in the sudden light, as if she were trying to remember where she was, her brow creased in pain or confusion.

"It's okay, Vala, look at me, you're back at the SGC," Dr. Lam repeated soft words of reassurance, taking in the deep bruising on her cheek and the dark blood stain on the left sleeve of her jacket. She motioned for her team to bring the gurney, but Vala grabbed her hand and tried to get her legs under her. Landry surged forward automatically to take her other elbow.

"No, I have to go back," she whispered, grabbing at the intruding hands and using them to pull herself to her feet. "I have to go back." Vala shook her head to try to clear away the fog and saw that the arm she was clutching belonged to Dr. Carolyn Lam. "He's hurt and I have to go back." Why weren't they listening to her?

"Let's take care of you first," the doctor tried to ease Vala over to the nearby gurney, her brown eyes full of concern.

"I'm fine," Vala insisted, frowning, looking past the doctor and her assistants for the one person who would help her. Relieved to find him standing to her right, she lunged towards him. "General Landry, we need reinforcements, weapons, at least two SG teams and medical supplies. There's not much time."

"Vala, you've been out of touch for over 22 hours, what the hell is happening?" Landry took her by both arms to steady her and turn her towards him. "Vala? Where is Dr. Jackson?"

"That's what I'm trying to tell you," she gritted her teeth in frustration. "We've got to go back to the planet and get Daniel. He's badly injured."

Landry only had to glance at the tall figure of Sgt Siler. "Readying a UAV, sir," the airman turned on his heel and left the 'gate room at a run. "What the hell is going on?" The general directed his entire focus back to the slight woman in front of him.

"Well, General," Vala began, "things didn't go exactly as we expected." A high-pitched laugh escaped from her throat.

"I can see that," Landry replied, trying to soften his tone.

"General," Dr. Lam twisted around until she faced her father. "Vala needs medical attention."

Ignoring the doctor's concerns, Vala continued. "Mitchell and the rest of the team hadn't been gone for more than a couple of hours before Jaffa started flooding the 'gate. They attacked the settlement and took us captive. We managed to get away, but Daniel couldn't make it back to the 'gate. He's -" she cut off another outburst from Dr. Lam with a sharp glance, "I'm all right."

Lam raised her eyebrows at the discolored swelling across Vala's cheekbone that squeezed her right eye almost shut, and pointed one finger at the raw skin on her wrists where the BDU sleeves had fallen away. "Really?" she asked, "you're clearly exhausted, probably dehydrated and I haven't even had a good look at you yet to determine any other injuries."

"Yes," Vala swung on the young woman abruptly, "and I got away easy, so you'd better go collect what you need to take care of Daniel because we need to move fast."

"Let's continue this discussion on the way to the infirmary," Landry's voice was tight with strain, but his brusque movements allowed no argument. Steering Vala with one arm, he marched her towards the corridor leading from the 'gate room, trailing Dr. Lam and other medical personnel in his wake. A terse, "Reynolds!" collected the dour leader of SG-3 from his position at the end of the ramp to follow behind.

"…and I'm telling you that without a more complete picture of what we're up against, we're going nowhere!" Landry's patience had all but run out by the time they reached the Level 21 infirmary. He understood her insistence on immediate action – Vala was a woman of action and had been used to making her own decisions before becoming a part of SG-1 – but that newly won patch on her shoulder made her a part of his command now, and any call to action would be his responsibility. He watched her sit fuming on the infirmary bed while Lam gave her a cursory examination.

"I've told you, there were no Jaffa close enough to the 'gate to worry about when I came through."

"And by now they might have moved in an entire battalion. Vala, until the UAV sends us tactical specs, we're in a holding pattern here. I cannot send men in there blind."

"The only thing you're blind to is the fact that Daniel could bleed to death if we don't get back through that 'gate." Vala gestured towards the door, snatching her arm from the nurse who was bandaging a laceration on her wrist. "It was your stupid rule that kept us on that planet in the first place…"

"Calm down and let the medics do their work," Landry leaned in close, biting off the words. "This is not helping anyone." His barely controlled anger managed to make its way past her mounting despair.

Col. Reynolds had grabbed the base phone as soon as he stepped into the infirmary, issuing instructions for prepping the three SG teams that were assigned to the rescue mission and keeping the general up-to-the-minute on any intel coming from the 'gate room. "Siler says the UAV is ready to go, General, infra-red and thermal imaging are on-line," he added.

Landry shot the man a look. "Thank you, Colonel. Tell Siler to send it through. Concentrate on Dr. Jackson's transponder signal."

Dr. Lam took advantage of the general's shift of attention and reached for Vala's chin. Gently probing along the bruise on her cheekbone, the doctor's fingers paused when Vala drew in her breath sharply. "You'll need X-rays; you might have a hairline fracture."

Vala drew back from the doctor's touch in annoyance. "I'm fine," she repeated. "General, just get me the Goa'uld hand device and a P-90 and I'll go back for Daniel myself!"

"Not going to happen," Landry replied. "Now stop it and give me something we can use."

Vala closed her eyes and tried to shut out the sight of the pool of blood under Daniel's body. "The Jaffa on the planet were taken completely by surprise – they didn't have a chance. We didn't even know what was going on at first, we thought it might be some kind of internal rebellion, but then we saw the gliders and the tattoos." She felt the medics attend to the sores on her wrists and opened her eyes. "But we know they are only the first wave. He's on his way there, and if he gets a hold of Daniel…"

"If who gets a hold of him, Vala? Who sent the Jaffa to P5R-118?"

She frowned. "Ba'al. He knew about the Ancient ruins and sent his Jaffa on ahead to secure the planet before his arrival."

Landry and Reynolds exchanged glances. "SG-3, 7 and 9 are ready, General," Reynolds announced, "the men are geared up and standing by in the 'gate room."

"Dr. Lam?" The question was in her father's eyes as well as his voice. Even though all standard medical practices would tell Carolyn to keep Vala in the infirmary for her own good, she knew that nothing at the SGC could be described as "normal." "She has no life-threatening injuries, but she's weak. I can't tell you that she might not be a liability on a rescue mission." The Chief Medical Officer of the SGC could hear the coldness in her own voice – that self-imposed distance that helped her keep her reputation as the 'ice queen' who only made the logical decisions. She knew that Vala still blamed her for not keeping Daniel Jackson out of the hands of that idiot from Area 51 earlier this week – she still blamed herself – but she could deal with that later. Nodding to her assistant, Carolyn met her father's gaze briefly before turning back to her patient. "I'll need more specifics before I can make any guesses as to Dr. Jackson's condition. You said he could bleed to death, what kind of injury is it?"

"Knife wound," Vala flashed her own icy look at the doctor. "It's a deep one, on the inside of his upper thigh. I know there's an artery there, but since he's not dead already I'm guessing it's only been nicked. I managed a bandage, but every time he moves it starts bleeding again. He's also got some broken ribs and, well, he doesn't seem to know when to shut up, so the Jaffa were pretty rough on him."

Landry grunted. "That's from too many years of working with Jack O'Neill." Dr. Lam's assistant returned with the Goa'uld healing device and handed it to Vala.

"Sir," Reynolds still had his ear to the telephone, "readings starting to come through from the UAV."

"Let's go."

Vala slid off the infirmary bed, but Carolyn blocked her from following Landry and Reynolds. "I'll send the supplies you need to deal with his wounds up to the 'gate room just in case." Vala tried to step around her, but Lam wasn't finished. "From the injuries you've described, Daniel would not have made it to the 'gate. Vala, you did the right thing."

Her eyes suddenly bright, Vala made a noncommittal noise and juggled the Goa'uld gadget into place on her hand. "That doesn't exactly make me feel any better." She hurried to catch up to the others.

"It never does," Carolyn Lam muttered.

"Receiving UAV telemetry, General," Chief Harriman began to speak as Landry made his way into the control room. "Scanning for Dr. Jackson's transponder signal."

Vala leaned over the technician's shoulder, searching the monitor eagerly for any sign of Daniel. Of course, receiving a signal wouldn't tell them whether he was dead or alive – she shook her head, determined to derail that train of thought even if it meant risking a return bout of dizziness. "There!" She jabbed one finger at the screen in triumph.

"Looks like he's about three clicks from the 'gate, sir," Reynolds added, his eyes darting between the monitors in the control room, "but he's not alone."

As the Unmanned Aerial Vehicle drew closer to the gleaming blip that was Daniel Jackson, it began to pick up other images. Living beings gave off a standard heat signature that the array of sensors and programming in the complex device could translate into hard data and then relay back through the 'gate via a radio signal. Five compound signals were located close to Daniel's faint reading.

"Jaffa." Harriman had seen enough similar images during his years sitting in this chair to put a name to them immediately.

"Yes, but how can we tell whether they are part of Ba'al's attack force or some of the Jaffa you originally met on the planet?" The decision to send more teams through the 'gate sat precisely on General Landry's shoulders. The unwritten rule of the SGC whispered through his mind, as he knew it did Reynolds' and Harriman's and every other airman and marine's that stood ready in the 'gate room: Leave no man behind. While that mind-set made for a tightly woven family of units who operated with unfailing loyalty, it was not often sound strategy in military situations. And the weighing of one person's life against the lives of two or three SG teams – a decision that, by all rights, should be left to the angels – was a part of this command that still sent a trickle of cold sweat down the general's rigid spine.

"What the…" Harriman tapped out a command on his keyboard as Vala drew back from the screen with a groan.

"Have we lost the signal?" Reynolds demanded.

"No, sir," Harriman replied quickly even though all six indicator lights had suddenly disappeared.

"Well then where the hell did they go?" Landry frowned, searching the monitors as if he could locate the errant signals behind a stray pixel.

Vala sighed and rubbed the back of her neck with a weary hand. "Can you widen the image?"

Reynolds and Landry frowned at her, but the 'gate technician seemed to understand exactly what Vala was thinking. "Zooming out and panning up," he stated, concentrating on his controls. Silence descended as the UAV readings flickered and blurred before finally settling. The thermal imaging was almost overwhelmed by the brightness of the display lighting up the alien sky, and Harriman quickly filtered the images. The readings were unmistakable.

"We're too late," Vala closed her eyes against the clear image of the ha'tak vessel in the sky above the planet. "Ba'al has arrived. And he's got Daniel."


	26. Chapter 26

Chapter Twenty-Six

Daniel knew he was screaming – his throat was raw, the muscles strained and taut, choking on the bile that rose in denial – but he couldn't hear it – the dead silence lay there, unaffected. The white lights blinded his eyes as the tears ran unheeded down his face, his neck. No – No – not this. He struggled against the lethargy, and shuddered unwillingly against the euphoria, the release that filtered through his nerves, relaxing his cramped muscles and leaving him gasping. Oh God, no, no…the darkness rose around him, enveloping him in its arms and the struggles ceased.

The thin, bearded face smiled above the sarcophagus. "This should be interesting."vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

The pyres had been burning all day and the stench of charred human flesh hung unmoving in the heavy air. The leader of SG-3 stood near the edge of the field that had once been green with ripening grain and tried to close out the sounds of grief and the taste of iron in the back of his throat. He was not new to death, but his tours in Afghanistan and the Gulf, not to mention eight years with the Stargate program, had seldom brought the loss of life, the loss of innocence, to such proximity. Even as Reynolds struggled to watch the parents stand over their children's flames and the children clustered close to each other with empty eyes at a father's or mother's, he was shocked to realize that he'd just used the term "innocence" in relation to Jaffa. _Oh, how far we've come,_ he thought, since these once feared, once hated slaves of the Goa'uld were unthinkingly targeted by SGC weapons as a matter of course. Friends and allies – he rehearsed the images of the SGC personnel walking, grim-faced, among the smoking ruin of the Jaffa village, eyes averted to the tragedy, hands reaching to hold a shivering child, medics wrapping injured limbs, soldiers carrying off the dead, their faces carefully blank or unashamedly streaked with tears.

His eyes were drawn again to Vala's small form, pale hand a contrast to the large Jaffa's black skinned arm where she stood next to Kre'bat near a fresh mound of straw and twigs. They stood silently, unmoving, the soot-streaked torso of the Jaffa and the large, bleeding wounds that marked his back and thigh, still untended, told only a portion of his determined resistance to Ba'al's invasion – the rest of the story lay in the frail body held so tightly in his arms. His daughter, Villene, had survived the first round of attacks, only to be overcome by choking smoke as she helped children escape when the enemy Jaffa torched the village before they withdrew to their ships in the pre-dawn hours. Reynolds worked to relax the muscles in his jaw, clamped so fiercely against either bile or sobs – or sometimes both. It was the acrid smoke that caused the unshed tears in him and his men. He'd stick with that story.

The approach of Mitchell, Carter, and Teal'c along the muddy path from the settlement went largely unnoticed by the grieving families, and Reynolds kept his own acknowledging nod brief, unwilling to divide the Jaffa's attention in even the smallest way. The three members of SG-1 stopped well beyond the circle of pyres, eyes riveted as Kre'bat raised his lifeless daughter to her final resting place. The Jaffa's back was to the newcomers, but Reynolds watched the brutal play of emotions across his face as he leaned down to place his lips against the girl's brow in farewell before stepping back and nodding to the small woman at his side. Vala's own attempts at control were less successful, and she let a tear fall down her bruised cheek as she thrust the torch into the oil-soaked tinder. As the flames burst to life, Kre'bat fell to his knees, pulling Vala down beside him, and Teal'c rushed forward to offer what little comfort he could to his brother.

It took a moment for the presence of the other Jaffa to register on the grieving father, but when it did his reaction was explosive. Heedless of his own wounds or the sorrowful character of those gathered nearby, Kre'bat erupted from the ground with a guttural yell, one hand firmly wrapped around Teal'c's throat, propelling the Jaffa through the air to land on his back amid the black mud of the trampled field. Reynolds was halfway across the area, his team at his side, before he made a conscious decision to move, but Carter and Mitchell were quicker.

"Kre'bat!" Mitchell and Vala each had a hand on one of the large man's arms as he came to rest on one knee at Teal'c's side. The calm face of their teammate and the empathy in his dark eyes as they caught the enraged glare of his attacker moved them to silence, and, as they watched, the fury that shook from Kre'bat's every pore turned to grief and he fell into Teal'c's firm embrace. Reynolds saw Mitchell turn away, arms crossed tightly, as Carter led Vala from the scene, and he gestured his men to flank them, trying to shut out the raw sound of sobs that now rose above the crackle of the funeral pyres.

Vala allowed Sam's support, both arms twined around hers, for a few steps, but quickly recovered herself and took a deep shaking breath, smiling fleetingly at her concerned teammate to take the rejection out of her untangling movement. "What took you so long?"

The fear that undercut her whining tone and the all too evident souvenirs of her ordeal at the hands of Ba'al's Jaffa tore at Mitchell's considered attempt at a take-charge attitude. He'd planned a quick stop at Bren-Nek-Mok to pick up Vala, Reynolds, and SG-3 before the Odyssey chased after Ba'al's rapidly cooling trail, but the devastation of the Jaffa they'd left in peace and safety only thirty-some hours ago had demanded more. _Where SG-1 went, destruction soon followed_, he winced inwardly, whether it was at the hands of the Ori or the Goa'uld. He shook his head to try to dispel the dismal mood that had settled on them since they'd received word of Ba'al's attack.

"Turns out, it's a big solar system," he belatedly answered Vala's question. "News?" He turned to Reynolds expectantly.

The marine shrugged. "Nothing since your last check-in. Kre'bat there," he jerked his head back towards the field behind them but did not turn around, "led the planet's Jaffa against Ba'al's forces around midnight last night, allowing Vala and Dr. Jackson time to slip into the forest, but it was almost a moot point by then. As soon as Ba'al's mother ship made orbit and they beamed up Daniel's research-"

"- and Daniel," Vala added sternly.

Reynolds didn't think a confirmation of that point was necessary. "- his Jaffa set fire to the place and abandoned it."

"So they didn't care about the people here at all," Sam noted coldly.

"Apparently not," Vala shuddered. "They wanted the same thing we did – any information about the Ancients that was left behind here."

"And they wanted to make sure that no one else ever found it," Reynolds added has he kept pace with Mitchell. "Ba'al's ship bombarded the entire Ancient site from orbit before they took off." He met Mitchell's frown with one of his own. "Nothing left but rubble. In some areas they cut clean through to the water table. Made a nice new well for the survivors, as if they needed another water source," he added wryly.

The teams walked in silence along the path that led back towards the village and the makeshift refugee camp set up by SGC personnel.

"Okay," Mitchell finally began, "so that leaves us with two questions."

"Only two?" Reynolds attempted a smile. "Wow, you guys are good, I've got a whole shi-"

"One," the glare Mitchell directed at the marine effectively silenced him, "how the hell did Ba'al know about this Ancient site? And, two…"

Vala's voice cut through his like tempered steel. "No. That is, at best, the second question, possibly much further down the list than that. The first question is: where has he taken Daniel?"

"Well, if he took Daniel to help him decipher…" Sam began, but one of Reynolds' men, a tall, thin, black man, Lt. Leon Adams, interrupted.

"According to the injuries you reported, ma'am," he nodded at Vala warily, "do we think that Dr. Jackson had any kind of chance of survival?" The group came to a halt and all eyes turned towards the young man with various expressions of disbelief.

"You'll have to excuse him," Reynolds clapped the young marine on the back firmly before resuming his pace. "He's new."

"As I was saying," the blonde lieutenant colonel's cold stare tempted anyone else to try to interject, "assuming Ba'al is still on the trail of the Ancient weapon, and that he abducted Daniel as a short-cut to figure out the Ancient clues he found here, we can expect Daniel to lead Ba'al to the next of the 'Islands of Fortune.'"

"What? Why would you think that Daniel would do that?" Vala spluttered. "Daniel wouldn't want the weapon to fall into Ba'al's hands, and if you're worried that he would crack under pressure, let me tell you –"

"Whoa," Mitchell held up both hands to try to rein in Vala's passionate defense of the scholar. "We're not saying that, Vala. Jackson's as tough as any soldier I've ever met, tougher than most, present company included." He eyed Reynolds and his team for a response.

"You'll get no argument here," Reynolds answered the unspoken question quickly. "I haven't always been there when the you-know-what hit the fan," he nodded respectfully to Sam, "but I've witnessed some of the penalties Daniel's paid over the years and, well, I'm honest enough to say I'm glad it wasn't me."

Sam found herself watching her footing closely for the next several minutes as she tried to bring her mind back to the present and away from memories saturated with Daniel's pain. She could feel Vala's tension ease beside her as she accepted the group's confirmation of Daniel's strength. Sam had recognized the familiar feel of indignation at the supposed slur to Daniel's character in her teammate's words, similar phrases having passed her own lips many times during the first few years of her association with the archaeologist. It was one such 'fan-hitting' incident that fueled her – and Mitchell's – anxiety now, and convinced her that Ba'al would have instant access to anything in Daniel's mind given the right incentive.

"Vala, you figure Ba'al has a sarcophagus?" Mitchell asked quietly.

"Well, sure, he'd have to," she answered off-handedly. "Considering that he consolidated many of the previous System Lords' kingdoms, I wouldn't be surprised if he had several." She shrugged. "There'd be no reason for him to take Daniel in the first place if he weren't going to heal him."

Sam couldn't force herself to meet Cam's eye. Reading the mission reports could not possibly communicate the horror of Daniel's sarcophagus addiction – especially since the entire team, including Janet Frasier and General Hammond, had seriously downplayed Daniel's behavior during his withdrawal and recovery. No one wanted Daniel to suffer any more than he already had – they just wanted to put it behind them and try to rebuild the broken man and the shattered team. She knew Reynolds had been on base shortly after the fallout, and stubbornly refused to look in the marine's direction as Mitchell continued.

"Yeah, that's what we figured," she heard him sigh.

"So?"

The silence stretched on until Sam realized that they were all waiting for her. She looked up to find that Reynolds had signaled for his men to drop back along the path, well out of earshot, supposedly waiting for Teal'c. On one side Cam continued his lanky stride towards the village, arms supported on the stock of his P90, and Reynolds kept pace. On the other, Vala had skipped a few steps ahead, trying to force each of her companions to make eye contact and, hopefully, some sense. The heaviness of the air seemed to press on Sam's lungs, making it difficult to speak – at least that's what she liked to think was choking her so effectively.

"Sam?"

Vala's whisper nearly undid her, but Sam squared her shoulders and forced the words past the lump in her throat.

"Eight years ago, only a year or so after I first met Daniel, after his wife was taken by Apophis, SG-1 gated to a planet where the people had rebelled against their Goa'uld and Jaffa masters. The human ruler, Pyrus, kept his subjects working in the naquadah mines and continued to send their regular shipments of the ore through the 'gate at the designated times to maintain the pretense that the Goa'uld still reigned. When we arrived this had been going on for hundreds of years, and Pyrus was old - very old. He'd been using the sarcophagus to maintain his life."

She swallowed. "His daughter, Shyla," Sam couldn't say the name without rancor, "took a liking to Daniel. You should have seen him then, Vala," she shook her head and a smile teased at her lips, "long hair, as eager as a puppy and just as sincere in his determination to help people. Brilliant, stubborn, he never followed orders, sneezed constantly…" her words trailed off as she searched her mind for the moment when Daniel had turned from enthusiastic scholar who practically danced at the opportunity to explore new worlds, to the solemn, unsmiling recluse who never left the base. Sometime between Shar'e's death and his own, probably.

"Sorry," she struggled to pull her thoughts together. "Anyway, Pyrus had captured the team and condemned SG-1 to hard labor in the mines for life. Colonel O'Neill engineered an escape plan, but Daniel was caught in a rock slide and mortally injured. Shyla revived him in the sarcophagus and convinced him that, if he didn't do what she wanted, she'd let us rot in the mines forever. And what she wanted was a way to control him completely."

"Oh, God." Vala had a quick mind, and, having been host to a Goa'uld herself knew the effects of a sarcophagus quite intimately.

"Yeah. She had him going back into the sarcophagus over and over again until he was addicted, and then he couldn't stop. By the time we got back to the SGC…" Sam stumbled – Vala had planted herself firmly in her path, reaching out with one hand to steady her teammate.

"I –" To offer sympathy or to stammer out the excuse that she didn't know would be unforgivable. Good grief, the more Vala learned about the man made her wonder how he managed to live as long as…she blew out a sharp breath. Even that safe little phrase couldn't be used around Daniel Jackson. Her thoughts flew. No wonder they thought Daniel would spill everything he knew about Excalibur – he simply would not be able to resist if – "Wait a minute. Does Ba'al know about this?"

"What?" Sam's blue eyes narrowed in confusion.

Vala gave her arm a little shake. "Just how much does Ba'al know about SG-1?"

Sam hesitated a moment, wetting her suddenly dry lips. "Too much, Vala. Entirely too much."

vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

It was the sounds that woke him - the rustling of soft fabric, the constant hum of large, smooth engines, the muffled voices – both loud and hushed at the same time. His brows furrowed even before he managed to climb back to consciousness. The sounds were wrong. He should be hearing rhythmic beeping, the quick click of heels across concrete floors, concerned voices speaking in low tones. Had they transferred him from the SGC infirmary to the Air Force hospital, or some rehab facility? Daniel tentatively moved his arms and legs under the warm blankets, expecting the usual aches and pains associated with recovery from an average SG-1 mission and something told him this had been anything but an average mission. Nothing. No pain, no residual aches, not even any uncomfortable monitor wires or confining bandages. In fact, he felt great – relaxed, better than he had felt in years, as if some great worry or deep sorrow that he'd carried for some time had suddenly disappeared. What was it? His memories seemed to slide away from him – something about a sword, an order to stay behind, Morgan LeFay – they all blurred together. He stretched luxuriously. It didn't really matter.

The ceiling came into focus slowly, the ornate gold carvings resolving into images of serpents curving and twining around each other, tails clenched in each others' teeth, some writhing in the throes of death, torn and ripped. Strange figures, lurid, shocking in their intensity, but also somehow moving, visceral and compelling. And he could see them clearly. Odd. One hand reached up to touch his face, expecting to come into contact with metal frames, but instead brushed against skin. The black sleeve caught his eye – not scrubs, not standard hospital issue, that's for sure. "What the…"

A soft sound issued from his left and he scrambled to sit up, to put himself into a less vulnerable position, his back against a wall. His heart pounded painfully in his chest as he took in his surroundings. Something was wrong with this room – it was too tall, for one thing – the ceiling so far above the floor. And the door to his left wasn't quite rectangular, narrower at the top than at the bottom. He'd been lying on some kind of couch or chaise padded in a soft red fabric that felt cool against his hands. The gold and red blanket that had been covering him had dropped to the carpeted floor when he sat up so abruptly and now made a garish puddle against the short black plush, soft against his bare feet. The sumptuous décor and the soft furnishings, the odd configurations and sounds – everything worked together to scrape against his nerves like broken chalk on a blackboard. Three light chimes sounded from the strange doorway – probably a repeat of the sounds that had so startled him in the first place. He swallowed, his throat remarkably dry, knowing without a doubt that whatever came through that door would not be pleasant.

Daniel cast his gaze over the small chamber quickly. No weapons, no defensible positions, nothing familiar, just a small table holding a cut-glass pitcher and a few crystal goblets, the chaise, and him. Fine – nothing he could do then. The feeling of displacement had grown into annoyance. He let his muscles relax and he slumped back into a somewhat reclining position, eyes closed and heart rate slowing – it took too much energy to maintain any level of fear or fight. His right cheek pressed against the cushioned upholstery, he smiled. Let them come.

He couldn't help opening his eyes when he heard the tell-tale 'swoosh' of a door sliding back. The sole figure that entered the small room was dressed in ornate robes of gold and brown that brushed the floor behind him. From Daniel's canted angle he couldn't quite make out the man's face, but the sardonic, accented voice touched a familiar place in his memories. Not a happy place.

"Ah, I see you are finally awake. I certainly hope you are feeling better, Dr. Jackson."

Daniel could hear the smile in the voice, and the face of his host – thin, aristocratic, with a small goatee and dark, flashing eyes – leaped into his mind. He sighed and pushed himself back into a sitting position, leaning back against the cushions as he blinked up at the Goa'uld.

"Ba'al?" Daniel's gaze raked the figure before him. Yes, he was easily recognizable as the System Lord that Daniel had first laid eyes on at the summit he'd attended six years ago, but he was thinner – much thinner – and something about his face was different as well – as if his image had a few jigsaw pieces turned around and pushed into the wrong places. The robes, the body language, the sparkle of amusement beneath dark brows – it all certainly fit his memories of the overweening arrogance of the former System Lord – but somehow on this person it all looked like a little brother's attempt to play dress up. One of the jigsaw pieces settled into place within Daniel's mind. "You're a clone."

The smile faltered slightly, but the bemused attitude returned quickly, this time seasoned with a hint of resentment. "Very observant, as always, Dr. Jackson." He swept further into the room and stopped at the table nearby, reaching down to pour something into each of the goblets there. He sipped from his own, his dark eyes meeting Daniel's as he did so, before offering the other. Daniel's dry throat itched for the liquid and he found himself reaching out a hand to accept the goblet before making the decision consciously. "Please," Ba'al smiled, "I know from experience how thirsty so many hours in the sarcophagus can make one."

The cup was already to Daniel's mouth when the words registered. He froze, a seed of panic sprouting somewhere in the back of his mind. In a moment his thirst won out and he let the water cut a cool, clear path through the parched tissue of his mouth and throat. He emptied the goblet completely before handing it back to the hovering Goa'uld.

"Better?"

"Yes, thank you," he sighed.

"Good." The quick smile flashed across the thin features again as he set the two cups back on the small table. Turning back to Daniel he crossed his arms over his chest in a familiar gesture, made a bit less imposing than usual by the thinness of his frame. "I find I must apologize for the," he shook his head briefly, "somewhat enthusiastic actions of my Jaffa on the planet. Believe me, their orders were merely to detain any humans they chanced to find among the population, not to treat you with any disrespect."

A brief memory of pain slid through Daniel's mind, but found no purchase there. He ran one hand across his forehead as he leaned forward on the couch, resting his forearms on his thighs. He raised his eyes to Ba'al's and shrugged uneasily.

"Still a bit muddled, are you?" His white teeth shone in the dim lighting as he laughed, strangely pleased with Daniel's non-answer. "Nothing to worry about, I assure you. Your memories are all there, within your mind, it all takes a bit of getting used to, that's all."

"What does?" Daniel knew he should be more concerned about the Goa'uld's words, some token alarm bells were jangling in a dark corner deep inside, but they didn't seem important and left him with only a feeling of mild curiosity.

"The effects of the sarcophagus, of course." The smile took on an edge of gloating. "You were severely injured when we found your transponder signal and transported you here. A few more minutes and your Tauri friends would have returned only to collect your dead body." He enunciated the last two words precisely. "You might say," Ba'al paused, his demeanor suddenly more serious, "that you owe your life to me."

Daniel rose to his feet, a process that was achieved much more easily than he expected, and stood facing the Goa'uld, his posture reflecting his captor's, arms crossed across his chest. "Is that right?" Anger began to unfurl in his gut, making his blue eyes blaze. "For reviving me after your own Jaffa nearly killed me? Is that what I'm supposed to be grateful for?"

Ba'al's eyes narrowed as he assessed the man before him. "Look at you. Just twelve hours ago you were barely alive, but now you stand there, healthier than you have been in your entire short life, I'd wager, and actually challenging me." His eyes glinted with cruelty. "What do you suppose has changed?"

"Twelve hours?" Daniel had stopped listening after those words. That didn't seem right, but he couldn't figure out if it should have been a longer time, or a shorter one. Was it only that long ago that he'd been with Mitchell and Sam? Why was Jack O'Neill's face popping into his mind? Did it really matter?

"You wouldn't remember," the Goa'uld's voice was thick with a barely stifled malicious humor, "but after the third trip through the sarcophagus you stopped screaming. Pathetic, really."

"I see you got a full dose of Ba'al's delusions of superiority," Daniel snarled. "When you've died as many times as I have let me know how you feel about it." He felt a tightness in his chest now: three trips through the sarcophagus. Maybe more. The thought of the long gold coffin filled him with a sense of dread and exhilaration.

Ba'al changed the subject abruptly. "I find it most interesting that, in all of my dealings with the Tauri of Earth, and with your highly regarded SG-1, that we – the two of us - have never actually stood within the same room." He moved, his hands behind his back, and walked to the opposite wall where he turned to face Daniel again, his head tipped to one side in thought. "That seems an odd coincidence, don't you think? I mean," he gestured widely with his arms, "I have spent quite a lot of time getting to know your teammates – some quite…intimately…you understand." The smile was feral this time. "But you have always somehow eluded me."

Daniel smirked. "Actually, we have." A heated satisfaction filled him at the look of confusion on Ba'al's face. "I stood not this far from you at the last summit of the System Lords when you voted to allow Anubis back into your ranks. Oh, well," he nodded his head a few times, "technically, that was Ba'al, long before you came into being, however that happened," he grimaced and shuddered dramatically at the thought, "but you know what I mean." He could almost see the thoughts race through the Goa'uld's mind. "That summit ended rather abruptly, didn't it?" He felt a little hint was only fair.

"Yes," Ba'al finally hissed, a frown clouding his face. "Lord Yu's Lotar fled some confrontation between Osiris and his master in an emergency escape pod. Everything basically went to hell from there." He cocked his head at Daniel. "You?"

"Nope. Not 'Yu,'" Daniel quipped, "me. I was Yu's Lotar." Ba'al smiled and nodded in admiration and Daniel's guts twisted again. "If I only knew then what I know now I could have slit your throat and saved the galaxy a whole load of crap."

"Yes, well," Ba'al's eyes glittered coldly, "twenty-twenty hindsight and all that. If Ba'al hadn't been so foolishly cautious during much of his dealings with Anubis and SG-1, if he had seized the opportunities before him, he would have been ruler of the System Lords long ago, and the galaxy would not now be under the threat of annihilation from the Ori." Bitterness stripped any amusement from the thin face now. "But," he leaned back against the wall and resumed his former stance, arms crossed, "as you so correctly stated the matter, Dr. Jackson, I've…changed a bit since then." A smile touched his eyes slightly. "But then, so have you."


	27. Chapter 27

**A/N: Note to self: writer's block bites.**

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Daniel shifted his gaze uncomfortably, looking away from the clone's self-satisfied expression. The words re-opened a wound that the Goa'uld sarcophagus could not reach – a deep, festering sore that had nothing to do with pain sticks or staff weapons and that he knew had been torn open only recently by similar words. Again, Jack O'Neill's face flashed unwanted through his mind accompanied by so strong a surge of grief and anguish that Daniel pushed the image away with a small shake of his head.

"So, are you going to tell me why you've come all the way out to my little section of the universe, brought me to your ship, healed me, and now are standing here trading clever remarks?" Daniel's inner turmoil drove him to movement and sent him pacing back and forth in front of the couch he'd found himself on when he awoke. Even as he tried to clutch at his waning self-control he knew his own emotions were right at the edge, threatening to take over and push him to some word or action which would give Ba'al more information than he already had. His memory was foggy, but one thing was certain: when the bad guys treated you nicely something even more disturbing than death was not far behind. He folded his arms and gripped tightly, almost painfully, and snarled at the Goa'uld. "'Cause I thought the whole reason you and your buddies invaded the SGC recently was to find the 'gate coordinates to the planet with Merlin's weapon." He lifted his head and shot a scornful grin at his captor. "Trust me when I say this isn't it."

"Isn't it?" Ba'al's expression didn't change. "Then why is the highly respected SG-1 spending time among the Ancient ruins on this planet of cowardly Jaffa?"

"Don't tell me you're following us around?" Daniel stopped pacing and stood, hands on hips, a few feet away from the Goa'uld, overpowered by the flush of contempt that shuddered through him. "Or is that just the job your Master has given you as, what, punishment? Latrine duty? Been a bad snake, have you?" he laughed. "Been caught dressing up in your big brother's robes?"

The clone moved faster than Daniel anticipated, scowling face within inches of his before he could blink, and one hand poised to strike. Daniel's face, frown lines habitually set into his forehead, showed no reaction, his blue eyes fixed placidly on Ba'al's fierce stare. He neither flinched nor stiffened before the threat, as if he really didn't care where the blow landed. It never did.

"You really shouldn't try so hard to provoke me, Dr. Jackson." The words hissed through the clone's clenched teeth.

"Not really trying," Daniel grinned.

Ba'al lowered his hand but jutted his bearded chin even closer to Daniel's. "I see now why my First Prime could not help himself from harming you. Unfortunately, as useful as the Jaffa can be, they were never bred for their intelligence."

"And you, of course, were," Daniel's eyes narrowed mockingly.

The clone clapped one hand on Daniel's shoulder and roared with laughter. Shaking his head, he stepped away from the confrontation, pouring another goblet of water before he turned again. "You are not far wrong, my friend. Ba'al did manipulate each clone's genetic structure in order to emphasize a particular characteristic. Some he equipped with solid constitutions, some with intellect, some with physical endurance, and some models," he gestured at himself, "were of a more experimental nature. But I digress," he added, meeting Daniel's eyes again. "We were speaking of the reason for your presence on this planet, which is, I believe, the same as mine."

Daniel turned his back and wandered back to the couch, rubbing his forehead with one hand as fleeting images of Ancient text spilled across his mind's eye. Another wild goose chase across the galaxy more out of desperation than any real hope. Anger and pain warred for ascendance as he lowered himself to the padded edge of the couch and closed his eyes, willing the images to settle into some kind of meaning. Part of his mind whispered for him to tread carefully, to bide his time until he could escape or rescue could find him, but other voices only tried to fuel his rage, or blanket him with a strange cocoon of futility.

"It's not here," he heard himself breathe.

"What isn't here, Dr. Jackson?"

"The damned weapon," Daniel growled, head snapping up. "The weapon isn't here."

"So I've been told," Ba'al confessed, placing the cup back on the table. "As I said, the Jaffa are not known for their intellect."

Daniel just stared, unable to articulate a question through the muddle in his head.

"Yes, Dr. Jackson, they told me." The clone was suddenly bending over him without seeming to have taken a step, "how do you think I knew to come here? Believe me Ba'al is much too busy deciphering Merlin's other clues to waste precious resources watching you petty Taur'i bumble around." When Daniel didn't reply he frowned, a wary concern in his dark eyes. "Not quite recovered, are you? Perhaps another few hours in the sarcophagus?"

Longing instantly burned within him, but, at the same time, Daniel's gorge rose and he fought the urge to vomit all over Ba'al's boots. He staggered quickly to his feet, laboring to settle a thin film of normalcy over his features. "I'm fine."

"Really?" Ba'al took a step back, his eyebrows lifting in a look of grudging respect. "I'm impressed. Or perhaps my information is incorrect about the addictive nature of the Goa'uld sarcophagus on human physiology. I had understood it to offer a more… compelling…urge than the strongest narcotic on your planet – a taste that, once acquired, needs but a small reminder to unleash a truly breathtaking -" he paused a moment, eyes glittering, "desire."

Daniel swallowed the yawning hunger that Ba'al's carefully constructed description opened within him. The bastard's smile made the expression of disinterest he'd pasted on his face blindingly transparent. Lying to Ba'al, lying to himself – he could do that; he had years of practice to draw upon. He just needed something to hang onto; something that reminded him of who he was. Anything. He brushed a hand against his temple, fingers reaching for metal frames that were not there. Dropping his hand he looked down at the soft black material of his pants and shirt, his feet bare against the deep carpeting. "Look, black isn't really my color, any chance I could get my own clothes back, I mean, I don't know where these have been." He plucked one hand against the fabric.

Ba'al's smile didn't change as if he understood exactly what the human was trying to do. "I'm afraid they were too damaged, Dr. Jackson, and quite stained. But, there is something that I have that you might be interested in." He motioned to the door. Daniel stood quietly for a moment, eyes hooded in suspicion, but Ba'al merely gestured amiably for the archaeologist to precede him. The door slid back at his approach revealing two armed Jaffa waiting outside. The Goa'uld barely glanced their way as he drew Daniel along the corridor to the left, but the large men kept close behind the two, their presence guaranteeing Daniel's obedience.

The archaeologist glanced around, a quick spasm of ridicule twisting his lips into a smirk – the Goa'uld were nothing if not predictable and the gold embossed walls of the hat'ak vessel looked like every other corridor of every other ship he had ever been on in the past ten years. Captured on a Goa'uld vessel going who-knows-where – yeah, that was a new one. Ba'al's constant chattering washed over him, barely making any impression on his mind as he struggled with the mixture of dread and anticipation that had accompanied the Goa'uld's words. Had he caught Vala, too? He was sure that she'd had time to make it back to the Stargate, but now his memories were so unfixed, so turbulent, that he doubted them all. The ship's corridors seemed deserted – the two Jaffa at his back the only two they saw on their ten minute walk from his comfortable prison to wherever they were going – but even taking out these two and attempting an escape was impossible given his current state.

Ba'al had to reach out and grab Daniel's arm to stop his momentum when they reached their destination; the startled snarl and immediate reaction that met this simple gesture amused him even as Daniel pushed him roughly against the wall, blue eyes red-rimmed with rage.

"Stop." The quiet word was directed past the human, still visibly trembling with fury, to the Jaffa who had stepped forward to protect their god. Ba'al reinforced his command with a steady glance before shifting his focus to his prisoner's face. The forearm across his narrow chest pressed him painfully against the decorated wall, but this bit of discomfort was well worth it when compared with the wild and utterly desperate expression on the scholar's face not inches from his own. "Dr. Jackson?"

Daniel froze, barely able to keep himself from levering his arm just a bit higher to press against the Goa'uld's windpipe and crush his trachea. He could feel the Jaffa behind him, hovering, and knew he'd be killed instantly if he managed to squeeze the life out of this…thing. Did it really matter? The unexpected question brought with it an overwhelming sense of uselessness and he relaxed his grip, straightening slowly.

Ba'al adjusted his robes and nodded for his guards to take positions on either side of the door that was his destination, choosing to ignore the altercation for the moment. "I thought you'd like to meet an old friend," he quipped, pressing a stud to slide the heavy door aside.

Blinking furiously, Daniel took one step past the Goa'uld to peer into the dimly lit cell at the shackled body gasping on the floor. What? Why would he…?

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Vala didn't think she could take much more. She was supposed to be resting, back propped up against one of the remaining walls of the Jaffa's meeting hall while Mitchell and Reynolds made last minute arrangements with Stro'noc and the leaders of SG-7 and -9. The council leader had somehow survived the disaster with just a broken collarbone, the result of his followers forcing him down a steep incline to hide him from the invaders. The serenity that had had been so evident within his every thought and action was fighting to reassert itself on his pain-streaked features, and Vala wondered if it was for his people's benefit or just a survival mechanism. She smoothed the thin fragment of paper between her hands – she'd been idly sifting through the ashes beside her when her fingers swept across a jagged surface, something familiar. Pulling it from the ashes she had been amazed to find a scrap of the wafer-thin paper that Daniel used for his charcoal rubbings. She'd smiled as she traced the barely discernable scratching she'd made with the end of his pencil, now invisible, but recognizable to her gentle touch. Vala didn't believe in signs, or omens, or premonitions – at least she didn't until she'd met Daniel and Cameron and had taken a stroll through their planet's mythology come to life. Now the feel of something salvaged from the ashes that had once touched his hands helped her focus. Or maybe she was just relieved to be back with the rest of the team.

Teal'c and Kre'bat had stumbled into the camp a few minutes ago and the two council members had managed a brief reunion, emotions quietly restrained. She'd heard Teal'c promise help from Bra'tac and the other free Jaffa who followed him, and had smiled as the two humbly accepted. One of the SGC's science teams that had been sent to determine if anything remained of the Ancient site had returned and they and Sam crouched off to one side uploading their readings into her laptop before they beamed out.

Mitchell smirked as Reynolds swapped salutes with the other marine leaders, but his heart just wasn't in irritating the jarheads today. Military wisdom had told him to use the nine hour trip from space back to the Jaffa planet as an opportunity to eat and sleep, but the tightness in his guts whispered the likely results if he'd tried either. The smell hit him as soon as they'd beamed down and convinced him he'd made the right decision. His eyes darted to pick out the locations of his teammates amidst the scurrying workers who were busy trying to put a society back together using nothing but good intentions and ace bandages. He noticed Vala tuck something away in her TAC vest and wondered just how many injuries she was covering up – Odyssey's infirmary would be her first stop if he had to hogtie her and carry her there himself. Teal'c was edging away from the other Jaffa, clearly ready to leave now that he'd assured his brothers that they would not be left without military support again. As soon as Sam finished mind-melding with the other techies they'd get the hell out of there and track down Jackson. According to Reynolds' intel, the hat'ak had left the skies above the planet nearly six hours ago. They had some serious catching up to do.

Sam was still pale, he noted to himself, her reaction to retelling the story of Jackson's sarcophagus addiction much more profound than he was expecting, especially since it had happened so long ago, so many other injuries and even deaths ago. There was something there, something not in the mission files. Mitchell had seen too many of the guys recovering from injuries alongside him battling not just their suddenly limited bodies, but a physical and psychological craving for painkillers to be considered an innocent about these things. The bland words of the reports he'd read probably had little to do with Jackson's actual conduct – his team had covered his six just as thoroughly as they did on off-world missions. Not that he blamed them; he was sure he would have done the same thing himself. But now, if they were going to go up against Ba'al and his Jaffa to get Jackson back, he had to know the truth. Sam must have felt his eyes somehow, because she suddenly looked up and locked gazes with him, her jaw muscles visibly clenched. Mitchell shrugged his shoulders and leaned back, cocking his head to one side and raising his eyebrows in a silent question.

A geologist from the science team had to tug on her sleeve twice to get Samantha Carter's attention, but finally got the lieutenant colonel to take the case of samples she was holding out. With a nod and a smile Sam clutched the sample bag and started towards Mitchell, watching as Teal'c and Vala also closed on his position. Almost. Her breath hitched painfully in her chest. SG-1 was almost back together. She raised her chin – she'd be damned if she'd let Ba'al and his sarcophagus keep her from getting Daniel back – the real Daniel, not some nightmare Daniel who had lost himself in addiction again.

Mitchell flicked a two finger salute to Reynolds and keyed his radio. "Odyssey, this is Mitchell. SG-1 minus one ready to go." He caught the fierce light of determination in Sam's expression even as the transport beams brightened the world to white.

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One hour was all that Vala was willing to give the medical officer before she appropriated a clean uniform and stalked off through the ship's hallways to find her team. She took another bite of the apple in her hand, wincing at the pull on the bruises turning to black along her cheekbone. Mitchell had tried to order them all to rest when they'd gotten back aboard Odyssey and watched the ship enter the hyperspace window that would take them back along their search route. With Ba'al's head start they'd all agreed to bypass "Planet Radiation," as Mitchell so adorably named it, and head straight to the world they had intended as their next search target. Hopefully they'd be there waiting when the Goa'uld ship entered orbit and they could beam or ring aboard before he noticed them and raised his shields. Vala had let them lead her to the infirmary, but she knew the other three weren't resting – oh, they might have lain sleeplessly on their bunks, or taken a few minutes to wash the death from their clothes, but none of them would truly rest until Daniel was back with them.

The first thing she saw when the doors to the science lab slid open was the strain across Cameron Mitchell's shoulders. His hands were planted on his hips, and as if he'd been facing her, Vala could easily fill in his expression, rigid with anger. Over his shoulder the pale but equally stubborn face of Samantha Carter revealed that she was not the least bit intimidated. Vala was right – the ends of her blonde hair were still damp from a shower and clung to her skin above the neckline of her black t-shirt. Standing a step behind her and apparently concentrating on his looming, Teal'c's mouth was drawn down in a grimace that Vala was sure had caused bowels to loosen in Apophis' enemies when he'd been the Goa'uld's First Prime. Thellesan could have learned a few things about intimidation from the Jaffa, Vala shuddered, a chill sliding over her skin from ankles to neck as Daniel's unconscious face swam before her eyes.

Her inadvertent gasp caught the attention of Cameron Mitchell like the familiar sound of the sliding door did not, and he whirled to face her. "I thought I told you to get some rest," he barked, striding toward her menacingly.

_Ha, looks like I was right about the scowl,_ Vala thought to herself as she blinked back the tears that had been hovering too close to the surface since she'd laid eyes on her teammates again. She forced a stupid smile to her face and shrugged one shoulder.

"Vala Mal Doran." Teal'c's gentle voice pulled her gaze away from Mitchell's face for long enough for the Air Force officer to reach her and put one arm around her shoulders to draw her far enough into the lab to allow the doors to close.

"Don't," she pushed away from Mitchell's arm and shook her head. "Don't treat me like some kind of invalid, Cameron. I'm tired and I'm sore and I'm not going to feel any better until I find Daniel. He –" She closed her eyes for a moment before raising her head and staring at the leader of SG-1. "I had to watch while they hurt him."

Mitchell's lips thinned and he wiped his face with both hands before linking his fingers behind his head and staring up at the ceiling. "Oh, Jackson." The sound slid from his mouth like a groan.

Vala felt herself being gently pushed onto a padded stool and she smiled up at Teal'c's dark face. She let the fingers of one hand lay motionless against his cheek in thanks before she forced herself to some kind of self-control. _This isn't helping._ "So, what did I miss?" she asked brightly.

Sam cleared her throat and tapped at a few keys on her laptop. "Well, I was just about to run through the data collected by the science team on the surface. They seemed to think –"

"No," Mitchell interrupted, turning back to his original position across the work table from his teammate, "what you were about to do was fill me in on what we're likely to face on board Ba'al's ship if Jackson has gone dark side on us."

"And as I already told you," Sam glared, "since you've read the reports, you know what to expect."

"And as I told you," Mitchell retorted, "bullshit."

Vala's gaze flicked back and forth between them before settling on the Jaffa standing at her side. "What's going on," she whispered, leaning into the large man's side.

"Colonel Mitchell believes that we are hiding something from him that he needs to know," rumbled the answer.

"Oh."

"Now, you see," Mitchell turned and raked the Jaffa with a brutal stare, "that's exactly what I mean. That whole 'that he needs to know' crap," he echoed. "That just makes it more obvious that there's something to hide."

"Cam –" Carter stopped herself this time. "Look. I'll admit that our reports were worded…carefully." She bit her lip and looked over at Teal'c as if for permission to go on. Vala felt him incline his head but didn't bother looking up.

"Figures." Mitchell hurried on when he saw the defensiveness on Sam's face. "I mean, it's what I'd do for any of you."

Pacing the length of the long work table, Sam struggled with the right words to truly communicate the horror she, Teal'c and the colonel had felt while they watched Daniel lose his soul to the sarcophagus. "At first, on the planet and back at the SGC, it seemed like he had just lost his ability to control his impulses. He blurted out any thoughts that entered his head. He accused Col. O'Neill of never respecting him, accused me of… not understanding what love was, or what Shyla meant to him." The image of Daniel, sweating and swearing, pacing like a caged animal, came to mind. "He lost touch with his own moral compass, threatened us, became easily agitated, violent."

"He attacked Dr. Frasier and an airman who was guarding him," Teal'c added abruptly.

The silence grew as each member of SG-1 imagined the gentle Dr. Jackson savagely assaulting his friends. "Is that it?" Mitchell finally asked.

"No." Sam stopped and faced the new leader of SG-1. "He tried to kill Jack. And he tried to kill himself."

Mitchell felt as if the chill vacuum of deep space had leached all of the oxygen from the room. This is what they'd been hiding. He knew Jackson and General O'Neill were close – had just had an up close and personal reminder of that back at the base. That the archaeologist had gotten violent and mouthy coming down from his addiction wasn't surprising. But turning on his best friend – it made him wonder what the man might be capable of doing to someone he didn't have as strong a bond with. "How?"

Teal'c linked his hands behind his back. "Daniel Jackson took the weapon from the airman he attacked. He shot at O'Neill several times."

"But, in the end," Sam added quickly, "he turned the gun over to Jack when he could easily have killed him."

Mitchell nodded. "And the suicide attempt?" He'd seen how the guy heaped guilt on himself on a good day; other men had gone over the edge after realizing some of the things they'd done under the influence – this wasn't any different. But a suicide attempt on his record would have easily kept him from ever going through the 'gate again.

Sam shook her head. "That was worse, somehow. It happened days later, after we thought the worst was over. Jack had taken him home – to his house, they used to do that a lot back then." She swallowed. "He thought he'd taken everything out of the bathroom that he could use… that could be…"

"Daniel Jackson broke the mirror and attempted to cut his wrists." Teal'c had been there when O'Neill had all but carried the young man into the infirmary, his arm wrapped in the colonel's blood-soaked towel as he whimpered and cried out his pleas for forgiveness to his missing wife.

"Well this just sucks," Mitchell blurted out after a moment, unable to meet either Teal'c's or Sam's eyes. "So, we're looking at a homicidal or possibly suicidal Jackson on that ship out there."

Vala frowned. "I don't really care," she offered. When the blank faces of her teammates turned towards her she straightened her shoulders and continued. "Yes, sarcophagus addiction is cruel and heartless and turns one's friends into strangers, or worse – I've seen it before. Some of the Goa'uld actually use it for entertainment." She shuddered. "But this is _Daniel – _one of the best people I have ever met. He survived it once and he can survive it again."

Facing Cameron, Sam shrugged. "Nothing's beaten him yet," she admitted.

"Indeed," Teal'c added. "Daniel Jackson is nothing if not resilient."

"Okay." Mitchell crossed his arms. "Let's hope he's got one more trip through this particular nightmare in him."

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Tendrils of long dark hair were plastered to the man's bruised and bloody face as he raised his clouded eyes to Daniel's. Ba'al nodded his head in command to the large Jaffa that stood over the prisoner, and he reached down and jerked Lis'qan to his feet with one hand. Seeing Daniel's frown, the young Jaffa raised his bound wrists in appeal.

"Daniel…" he breathed, a glimmer of hope beginning to burn away at the edge of his despair.

"I see you know our friend, Dr. Jackson," the clone observed coolly, watching the archaeologist from the corner of his eye. "And I suppose you also know that it was his message that brought me to this world, ultimately resulting in your injuries and capture."

A cough spurted blood between Lis'qan's cracked lips and Daniel took a step backwards in reflex until the spasm passed. "Please, Daniel…" he begged.

"Yes, Daniel," Ba'al echoed, turning to face the Taur'i. "Please tell me what we should do with this one. It was he that brought death to the innocent women and children of this planet. Tell me, what punishment does he deserve for bringing this much destruction?"

In the space of one blink Daniel realized that this was a test – that his decision here would determine Ba'al's next actions. His eyes were locked on Lis'qan's, but his vision was blurred, unfocused, memories of the deaths of enemies by his own hand, wound-ridden bodies piled up in Goa'uld palaces, entire worlds turned to fire, boys of Abydos with smoking craters where their chests used to be. There was only one fitting punishment for death, for the trail of bodies that stretched from this moment back to his very birth.

"Kill him," Daniel said, the words feeling right in his mouth.

Ba'al's eyes flashed in delight and astonishment. Grabbing the staff weapon from the Jaffa beside him, he held it out towards the black-clothed man. "Of course. Would you like to do it yourself?"

He snorted and tore his gaze from the young Jaffa's terror to Ba'al's studied indifference. "Would that make him any more dead?" He turned and strode back down the hallway, his pace unhurried, and the spurt of liquid fire and thud of the body hitting the metal deck behind him barely registered in Daniel Jackson's conscious mind. There was no going back.


	28. Chapter 28

Chapter Twenty-Eight

His feet were cold. Head down as he strode away from the confrontation aboard Ba'al's clone's mothership, Daniel watched his bare feet slap against the metal floor of the corridor knowing that this small discomfort should be very low on his list of priorities at the moment, but, somehow, it wasn't. A spark of anger spit through the fog that encased his emotions at the petty tactic – taking his boots. He felt the frown grow between his brows but the anger died away as quickly as it had bloomed and he was left with only disorganized sensations of long abiding pain and loss and confusion. One thought seemed to surface for a moment at the edge of his awareness before slipping away, reappearing suddenly and then vanishing, leading him a breathless chase to grasp it. His heart thudded against his chest as if it was trying to break out, the sound of his blood rushing drowning out all other noises. It was the movement at the edge of his vision that caught his attention and disrupted his agitated pace – Daniel's head snapped up and restless blue eyes focused warily on the figure detaching itself from its relaxed position against the wall.

A Jaffa – First Prime by the look of the gold emblem that had been carved into his smooth forehead. A name flashed across Daniel's mind and brought with it the taste of copper and a sense of disgust that spread slowly, searing every nerve. The Jaffa straightened deliberately, an amused stare never leaving the archaeologist's face as he moved to stand between Daniel and his flight from whatever demons currently pursued him.

"Dr. Jackson." The First Prime's lips curved into a smile.

His blood becoming fire in his veins, Daniel bit off the Jaffa's name: "Thellesan."

Folding his arms over familiar armor, Thellesan nodded as if in casual greeting. "I am pleased to see you looking so well."

"Wish I could say the same. Oh, wait… no I don't."

The Jaffa's quick laughter nearly had Daniel diving for his throat the way he had Ba'al's only a few minutes ago. It was only a few minutes ago, wasn't it? How long had they left him to run amok on their ship after he'd turned his back on the young, bleeding Jaffa from the Ancient planet? Daniel swallowed the swell of fear his confusion brought to his throat. "I see you got a new knife."

Thellesan dropped one hand to caress the handle of the long knife at his belt before smoothing his fingers lightly along one sharp edge from hilt to tip. "Oh, no, Dr. Jackson. Not a new knife." He raised his hand up before his face and rubbed his thumb against the two fingers in a circle, an open look of pleasure in his eyes. "This one is very special to me." The Jaffa's voice and heavy-lidded gaze brought to mind a satiated jungle beast. "I can still feel the slickness of your blood, can almost smell it."

The snarl surprised Daniel as his loathing burned through the remaining fog in his memories. The smug Jaffa lying against Vala's slim form, pressing his mouth over hers until she practically disappeared into the wooden pillar at her back. The dark eyes raking over his own bruised body, reveling in his vulnerability. The tension in Daniel's back and legs as his muscles unconsciously prepared to propel him through the space separating him from his target made him tremble.

Ba'al's First Prime danced backwards and held his arms out at his sides, palms raised towards the human in mute appeal. "My Lord simply asked me to reassure you of my healing," he began, "and to direct you to your new workspace." Thellesan observed the dark shadows haunting Daniel's bright gaze and continued softly. "Please, I do not have permission to hurt you." His glittering eyes and half-smile betrayed the 'yet' he left unvoiced.

"I think you might have a little more trouble with that now that I'm not tied up to a post and beaten senseless," Daniel growled, his lips pulling back to reveal teeth in a mockery of the Jaffa's smile.

Thellesan gestured to the open doorway to his left and Daniel allowed his attention to dart away for an instant, his mind desperately trying to sum up the images and feelings that emerged unbidden. His body's signals were clear – weight evenly balanced on the balls of his feet in preparation, hands held out from his sides, clenching and unclenching as if searching for something to hold, abdomen tight, anticipating the need for swift movement. But his thoughts tumbled restlessly, and the focus that he knew he needed – _he had to have_ – to defeat this Jaffa kept skittering away. He squeezed his eyes closed and the memories assaulted him, each carrying an instant flood of emotion that ripped through his nerves and left him gasping. Vala struggling against her bonds as the flames rose around her, the heat searing him where he stood so close, helplessly watching. The pale, smiling face of the prior, inches in front of his own, equally unmoved by either pleas or defiance amidst the dying village on Quetesh's planet – Daniel's guilt, his conviction of his own responsibility for every death the Ori brought to his galaxy utter and complete. A cold feeling of inevitability swallowed him as he watched the blood flow from the single bullet buried deep in Anubis son's chest – _his_ bullet, soon to be followed by so many more until all that was left was Khalek's knowing smile in a sea of red. The smell of death, the screams of men and women he barely knew, and the taste of burning wires and circuits sent a wave of betrayal shifting through him – his own betrayal as he flung the device away from him and hurled himself into the rings on the _Korolev_ to save himself.

No. No more. Sweat trickled down his back and through the short hairs on his temples and he concentrated on the sensation, following the trail of a single drop under his shirt and down his back and bringing his thoughts to a kind of shuddering halt. A puff of warm air across his face encouraged him to open his eyes, and he blinked away the sticky moisture that had caught in his lashes. A warm hand settled on the back of his damp neck, and Daniel turned his head to seek the source, feeling the heat of a strong body close against his side, focusing finally on brown eyes just a few inches from his own. Two sets, one superimposed upon the other. His breath caught painfully – one pair smiled at him, crinkling in familiar lines, and brought a sense of welcome that nearly undid him. The other burned with something else, something no less fierce but far less kind and Daniel knew in that moment that only one belonged here on this ship. And it was not the one he needed.

"Come." The Jaffa's breath drifted across Daniel's cheek again, and his hand slid down to rest against his back, its pressure communicating where he wanted Daniel to go. An instinctive reluctance to comply rose within him and he set his feet firmly against the metal flooring, feeling his arms fold to cross themselves over his chest. A grin stretched slowly, leisurely, across Thellesan's face. "You are tired," the smooth voice reminded him, "still recovering from your wounds." That heavy hand stroked a path that followed the tickling perspiration and a spark awoke in the dark depths of the Jaffa's gaze, gone in an instant. "Let me help you."

_Help?_ Didn't he realize there could not possibly be any help for him? He'd moved beyond help some time ago, beyond hope, beyond any dreams for good or right, at least when it applied to him. Daniel felt himself frowning again, knowing it was a familiar expression, one his face fell into naturally. He'd stopped yearning for, what, happiness? completion? so long ago, had covered it over with an incessant striving to perform, to solve every mystery he found through the Stargate, that this simple phrase uttered by a being he recognized as his enemy finally stilled his muddy, swirling thoughts. Daniel grasped at one thing – a simple thing – but something he knew he wanted, needed, had to fix. _Could_ fix. This was important – at this he could succeed. He let it expand to fill his entire world as he turned to face the Jaffa.

"My feet are cold."

The spark was back, burning powerfully now, as if a valve had been opened and fuel gushed to meet the flame. The Jaffa's hand stilled against his spine, as his other reached out and grasped Daniel's upper arm, pulling him closer until the archaeologist's crossed arms sat firmly against his chest. A sound deep within the First Prime's throat made Daniel's eyebrows quirk in confusion and he opened his mouth to ask how this could possibly be considered helping, but the noise of metal-shod footfalls interrupted him. He turned his head, shrugging to try to expand the space between his body and the Jaffa's relentless hold.

"My dear Thellesan," the strangely accented voice tsked, chiding the First Prime as if he was a wayward child, but the Goa'uld's face revealed that he was not teasing. "Is this any way to get back into my good graces?"

Daniel turned his head back to watch the hurried stifling of emotion on the Jaffa. The hands dropped away from him and Daniel staggered, confused, realizing just how much he needed someone, anyone, to struggle against just to maintain his own equilibrium. He put out one hand to the wall and breathed deeply.

"You have hurt him." Suddenly Ba'al's voice returned to its deep, echoing cadence, as if both host and symbiote strove to speak at the same time.

"My lord, I…"

"No, no." Daniel interrupted the First Prime's denial, raising one hand. "We were just discussing footwear, actually."

Ba'al smiled. "Of course you were." His eyes narrowed, and he gestured sharply to the two Jaffa flanking him. "Assist Doctor Jackson to his office."

Straightening, Daniel shuffled forward. "Don't need assistance, but thanks anyway," he refused firmly, moving through the open doorway just ahead of the towering thugs. Towering thugs with excellent reflexes, he quickly admitted as they did not plow into his back when he stopped abruptly just inside the door. His mouth was dust, the long muscles in his legs quivered and he knew his eyes were wide, white showing clearly around each blue iris. He felt someone brush past him, but didn't move, didn't blink. A voice sounded somewhere off to his right, droning on about journals, translations, and reference works, about having enough time to finish his research while they were en route. It eventually trailed off into silence.

He didn't remember moving, but his fingers could feel the raised hieroglyphs on the lid, the warmth of the technology as it lay dormant, waiting. It was like a live thing, predatory, confident in the knowledge that its attraction could not be eluded. And Daniel wanted it. Someone gently nudged the amber crystal to the side and the cover of the sarcophagus opened, white light shining from within. Daniel moved back as one golden wing slid closer, one step, and then another, until he felt a presence at his back, a touch on his shoulder.

"We have plenty of time." He could hear the amusement, the dark victory in the tone. "By all means refresh yourself. When you awaken you can finish your work on the Ancient inscriptions and I can assist you in finding Merlin's weapon."

No. Daniel turned his head to speak the word to his captor, but his eyes refused to release their focus on the Goa'uld machine and his mouth was too dry to utter the simple syllable.

The Goa'uld laughed – a deep, rich sound that managed to kick Daniel's brain back into the 'on' position. He carefully clasped his hands behind him and turned his back, still feeling the temptation yawning behind him but thanking any gods of any pantheon for the arrogance of the Goa'uld in general and this one in particular. "Thanks," he managed to whisper after clearing his throat, "but I'm fine. A little thirsty," he added after a moment.

The thin face barely held onto its smile, clearly disappointed, but Ba'al covered it up by ushering Daniel to the other side of the room where his notes and books were spread neatly on a long table, the Goa'uld equivalent of the laptop sitting to one side displaying the Ancient text from his notes on the glowing screen. Daniel wrinkled his nose at the hint of mold overlaid with charred paper that wafted through the purified air of the mothership. He saw that one section of the rubbing had been destroyed and replaced by a copy – obvious by the lack of the kinds of smudges and wrinkles that defined the other pieces, as well as the clean edges that were free from his notations and scribblings.

"I took the liberty of uploading the inscription into my own version of an Ancient translation program. I'm sorry, but I could not quite make out your notations on the rubbings you'd made at the site itself." Ba'al took one of Daniel's journals from the table and absently flipped through it, glancing up now and then to observe any reaction on the archaeologist's face.

Jaw clenching, Daniel didn't hesitate to give him what he wanted – he'd denied himself the sarcophagus, denied the urge to break the First Prime's neck and he was sick of it. With one stride he reached the clone and tore the journal from his long-fingered hands. "That's probably because you don't read Hungarian," he snarled. _"Te nem ért, ostoba." _He'd learned years ago to make his notes in Earth languages that he had yet to discover on the other side of any wormholes in case his journals ever fell into enemy hands. Abydonian, Egyptian, Goa'uld, Asgard, Ancient, even Ancient Sumerian and Chinese were out there, somewhere, but he hadn't yet met a population of Magyars that had been stolen from Earth's past and transplanted on another world. He flung the journal back onto the table and watched it slide across the rubbings, upsetting the careful placement of papers and books. "And why do you think I'll tell you anything?"

Ba'al tucked his hands into his long sleeves. "Why not?" His eyebrows rose to punctuate the question. "By now your Taur'i friends know that you are no longer on the Jaffa world," he gestured at the archaeologist's arm, "your transmitter will tell them that."

One hand reached up to clutch at his arm. "You left it?" _Why would he do that?_

"I did. I know that you travelled to that world via the Stargate, and that your ship left some time ago to explore the other planets in this system." Ba'al shrugged. "There is absolutely no danger that they will be able to reach you here aboard my ship. They are too far behind."

Daniel didn't bother to struggle against the honesty in those words – they sounded right. Even if Vala had returned to the SGC and Landry sent the Odyssey back to look for him, they'd always be a step behind the Goa'uld's ship. It would have been a better tactic to leave the Odyssey and the rest of the team to its search of the other planets in the solar system and write him off as lost, even though Daniel knew they'd never do it. At least then they'd be waiting for Ba'al when he came out of hyperspace above one of the worlds instead of chasing them futilely across the galaxy.

"That, coupled with the fact that you want to find Merlin's weapon just as much as, if not more, than I do." The Goa'uld had moved around the table and now leaned both hands against its surface, intense gaze spearing the human where he stood between his crushing need for the sweet oblivion of the sarcophagus and the deeper, more desperate compulsion to find a way to defeat the enemy for whose presence he blamed himself. He watched as the scholar drew one black sleeve across his forehead to brush away the beads of perspiration that swelled at his hairline. The pupils within the blue eyes were still large with need, visible even as he squinted in the bright light of the work room. Ba'al tried to keep his gaze from lingering on the shaking hands and subtle shifts of weight from foot to foot. He would not draw the human's attention to his own weaknesses and he would not underestimate any member of the elusive SG-1 as the original Ba'al had done so many times. He must simply wait for the two irresistible forces that he'd placed within this one room to slowly pull the Taur'i scholar to bits.

"It's not…" Daniel swallowed bile along with his words. Dammit. What the hell was he doing? He clenched his teeth together. The weapon wasn't here – it wasn't on any of the planets within this star's system, he knew that. He'd had all the clues before Ba'al's forces had attacked the peaceful Jaffa settlement, but somehow, between then and now, during torture, escape, or repeated trips through the sarcophagus, the pieces had come together and Daniel just knew. Of course. As damaged and disoriented he was, even with the seething fury that rose and fell within him, totally submerging his higher thinking, _this_ he had to remember.

Ba'al couldn't help smiling. Almost there already. "You do want to find the weapon, don't you, Daniel?" he asked gently.

"Yes." The word hissed between his teeth. Daniel blinked repeatedly and then rubbed both hands over his face to stall for time.

"You know that the Ori will take every world in this galaxy for their own, will oppress every human into a slavery far worse than that of the Goa'uld, even at their most powerful."

Daniel dropped his hands and scowled, blue eyes blazing at the creature in front of him. "I don't need to be reminded of that."

Ba'al stood. "I believe you do." He walked the length of the table as he spoke, crossing to stand in front of the resistant human. "Perhaps you also need to be reminded that your misguided insistence that you and your simple Taur'i friends are the ones who will ultimately prevail over the Ori is utterly ridiculous at best and woefully arrogant at worst."

"What?" Daniel was almost speechless. "You- you're calling _us_ arrogant?"

"Yes. Arrogant. Short-sighted. Childish." Ba'al pronounced each word clearly and distinctly, watching the way they impacted against the scholar's weakened body and mind. "You stumbled upon the Stargate only a handful of years ago and yet you believe that your towering intellects can take down an enemy that threaten the Ancients – the 'gate-builders – themselves."

"Managed to take down the Goa'uld, didn't we?" Daniel snapped back.

"Did you?" Ba'al sneered. "On your own? With no help whatsoever from the Asgard. Or the Replicators. Or the Tok'ra. Or me, for that matter." He saw the doubt pass across the archaeologist's face and pressed his attack. "You used the resources that you had to use; you took what you needed to protect yourselves and to exploit your enemy's weaknesses. I do not judge you for that." He casually waved one hand in the air. "How could I? I've done the same thing for thousands of years." He smiled. "But wasn't it your own arrogance, Daniel, that made the Ori aware of this galaxy's very existence? Tell me," he took one step and cocked his head to one side, "how does that make us any different from one another?"

It wasn't anything he hadn't told himself over and over again, but the clone's statement hit him like a blow, once again scattering the thoughts that he'd been trying to gather up into some semblance of order. They flew away from him, leaving him in darkness, an abyss of reason where all he could do was feel the guilt, the horror at what he'd done, at what he'd become. The Goa'uld was right. He'd been holding onto the idea that his return from being Ascended made him the one, the only one capable of figuring out a solution to the Ori problem – he'd even accepted Adria's threat as some kind of signal that he'd been right. It was his charge, his responsibility. Suddenly a dry laugh burst from his throat and he felt the burning behind his eyes that prefaced his tears. What a fool he'd been.

Strong arms caught him as he fell, turned him, and urged him to take a few steps before easing him to rest against something, a blunt edge against the front of his thighs. A faint warning flipped through his mind once, but Daniel ignored it, and, wrapping himself in the darkness of his need, he let his head drop to his chest as the hands maneuvered him almost gently into the box. He kept his eyes closed against the whiteness as the metal arms folded back over him with a grating of metal on metal almost muffling the gloating words of the Goa'uld standing over him.

"We have plenty of time."


	29. Chapter 29

Chapter Twenty-Nine

He could feel the difference through the deck plates and the thick worn soles of his combat boots. It was the feeling you had when you sat at the light, foot massaging the gas pedal, listening to the engine's purr ratchet up into a growl as your hand twitched on the gear shift, eyes glued to the lowest lamp on the traffic light to catch the tiniest flicker of green. Mitchell wasn't surprised that it took him this way – after all the jets, all the flight experience he'd had in the Air Force before he'd even heard of something called a Stargate, and all the strange ships he'd been on since then, the best comparison he could come up with was the memory of the full-body vibration he'd feel sitting behind the wheel of his dad's T-bird. Maybe it was the sensation of reserved power, of the knowledge of what the engines could do when you finally let them loose. Maybe it was the anticipation, or the way the licking he was gonna get for taking the car when he got home just sort of hovered there in the back of his mind. No, he shook himself mentally. This time it was the gut-clenching fear about whether or not this particular mission was going to end up with SG-1 losing far more than they found.

The frustration ate at him. He was so damn tired of being caught wrong-footed, of missions blowing up in his face, of losing good men and women. Within the past few months they'd seen more casualties than during some of the heaviest Goa'uld fighting during the previous nine years – the sheer destruction the Ori so casually handed out when they slid through the Super Gate was still etched into his mind's eye, as were the bloody faces of the dead. And it never let up. With one hand whatever powers still watching over them gave them back Vala, gave them tantalizing hints about an Ancient weapon that would protect them from their foes, and handed them a jaw-dropping victory over an Ori and Wraith ship, and with the other it led good men to their deaths in an unending sleep, erased Vala's memories, and wiped out the heart and soul of the Jaffa nation. This galactic chase after Ancient hints and portents made his fingers itch with the need to shoot something, to bring some of the Ori's devastation back to them with a vengeance, but no matter how they searched, no matter how much blood, sweat, and tears Jackson put into it, they just couldn't win. And now this. Another wrong move, another time they blasted off with guns blazing in exactly the wrong direction. God, he how he longed for a simple target.

"You sure you want to have this discussion here, Colonel?" Emerson's voice pulled him from his thoughts and Cam raised his head to focus on the Odyssey's commander, sitting stiffly in the big chair on the bridge of _his_ vessel as he stared at the young leader of SG-1. Without moving his gaze Mitchell knew that Marks was frowning, mouth open slightly in shock at the latest command, willing to take the risk of a little non-verbal questioning of the orders of a superior officer because of his long history with this program, a risk that the other bridge crew didn't adopt as they kept their heads down, eyes on their instruments. Unfortunately, Marks' commanding officer felt no such hesitation in voicing his doubts.

"This isn't a discussion, Colonel," Mitchell stated simply, knowing that his silver oak leaves were no match for Emerson's birds in most situations, but that his role as leader of Earth's flagship team trumped rank this time. And after the revelations in the science lab during the past few hours he just didn't have the tact or patience left to _convince_ the Odyssey's commander of anything. No. No more discussions, no more explanations. There was a time for briefings and conferences, but this was not one of them. SG-1 had made its decision. It was time for Emerson, Marks, and the rest of the crew to deal with it.

Cam stood, hands safely tucked into his pants pockets with his back to the viewscreen. Both Teal'c and Sam had offered to come with him – for very different reasons. Sam wanted to explain, to show Emerson the energy readings, the chemical analyses that had connected all the dots for the brilliant scientist and set them on this course – a course at definite right angles to military logic. She hadn't even begun to look at the data collected on the Jaffa world until they'd already traveled hours too far in the wrong direction and she wanted – needed – to do the whole science song and dance for the waiting audience on the bridge. It's what she did. And the funny thing was he knew Emerson would buy it. This squint-eyed who's-in-charge-here standoff wouldn't be happening if he let her haul her laptop up here and make like a professor. But what Mitchell didn't need right now was a dry, analytical evaluation of pros and cons, even less than he wanted reminding of his own less than awe-inspiring stature among the other commanders of the SGC. It wasn't just the ship's vibrations getting to him, shuddering through his bones, shooting his adrenaline levels through the roof. A good commander could feel when a mission was reaching the do or die stage, when all of the options were gone and you went with your gut. The brainpower he had access to within SG-1 was the best in the world, but right now it was gut-time.

He didn't let Teal'c come along for reasons that were much more personal. Muscle. Cam didn't want the crew of the Odyssey to think he needed some large Jaffa muscle to back his play with their commander. Teal'c was daunting when he didn't take it upon himself to loom threateningly; that eyebrow clearly communicated his willingness to disembowel the hopeless officer who even considered arguing with him or his. Yeah, _his_. When 250+ pounds of alien warrior was in the room, the whole chain of command thing pretty much unraveled, closed its eyes, and huddled on the floor.

No. No looming, no technical lecture. It was time for command, for action. _Thank God._ And since this mission was all about getting Jackson – a member of SG-1 – _his team_ – out of the hands of one of the last remaining galactic bad-asses, that command decision was Mitchell's. Emerson wasn't a bad guy. He'd never questioned Mitchell's command before, not even in the aftermath of the Ori invasion when the team had been adamant about Jackson's survival although the only thing left of the _Korolev_ had been fragments floating in space. And Cam knew that the bird colonel wasn't really questioning it now – he'd come around, he'd become convinced. Mitchell was just not of a mind to slow down and offer that explanation. Not now.

"Colonel, we don't have time for this. Adjust your course accordingly. When we make contact with the SGC I'll be glad to explain my decision to General Landry and yourself. But every minute we waste standing here bumping dog-tags is one we won't have on the other end." All of the tension that had been building up since he found out that Vala and Jackson were overdue with their check-in was about ready to come pouring out all over Emerson, Marks, and anyone else who just happened to be standing between him and getting Jackson back before it was too late. He waited, hoping the colonel would back down and acknowledge that Mitchell might know what he was doing with over a year of SG-1 leadership behind him. The ice in Emerson's eyes told him, at this rate, he'd be waiting until there was a curling tournament in that hot place reserved for bad little airmen before there was any kind of slack given here.

_Okay – not going to just take my word for it. I'm not Jack O'Neill. _But it would be O'Neill who would happily fry Mitchell's ass if Jackson came back from this mission with another set of nightmares piling up behind those blue eyes. If he came back.He braced himself. "Look, SG-1 believes that this is the best plan, that changing course now will get us to Jackson that much sooner." Sooner, but still probably not soon enough. Losing Jackson in any way was not an option, and if the price of getting to him before Ba'al and the sarcophagus robbed him of his soul was Mitchell's pride, then so be it. "You want to talk to Colonel Carter and the others? Hash this over good, decide whether or not to go along?" He nodded his head. "I can live with that." The steel crept into his voice and he knew that the heat of his glance could scorch flesh. "But Jackson can't." He pointed one finger at the deck. "And I'm telling you as the leader of SG-1, to turn this ship the hell around. Now."

Mitchell saw the blood leave Marks' face as he lowered his eyes and concentrated pointedly on his instruments. Colonel Paul Emerson leaned forward, one elbow resting on his knee, chin in his hand. The silence drew out too long, but the rising warmth in the officer's glance told Mitchell that Emerson understood – he could feel it, too. This was what hope felt like: the sudden clench of muscles, the feel of the blood flowing through your veins, like the pressure that ramped up to power a runner's last minute surge to victory. With absolutely no earthly, logical reason to hang this sudden optimism on, Emerson was with him. Cam couldn't help a twitch of his lips at the colonel's restraint as he casually turned to his right to give the order.

"Enter the new heading Mr. Marks. Take us back to the Jaffa planet with all possible speed."

"Yes, sir."

vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

"_An advisor to the mighty and a prophet of great worth and power, Myrddin lived long and his influence swept across the entire land. Kings pursued his wisdom, meddlers in secret arts his learning, and those who claimed Myrddin as friend and fellow knew the respect and reverence of their allies as well as the fear and dread of their enemies. Bard, lawgiver, worker of magic, Myrddin knew the hearts of men and possessed the knowledge of the celestial spheres._

"_At such a time as this, when the people clung to the fraying peace of the land among jealous warlords and petty princes, Myrddin made his home in Dyved, living openly, sharing his gifts with those who sought his presence. But as those who studied the lines of force of the earth or the moving of planets among the stars could foretell bad crops or a killing frost, the ones who watched the sage saw his unease and were troubled. And as the seasons turned, man's peace was broken, and Peredur, King of the Venedotians, pleaded for the wise man's help._

"_His enemy, Guernolus of Gwendoleu, gathered against him with strength of arms and stealth and cunning, slaughtering the humble people of the land who stood between him and his bloody ambition. The land itself groaned in horror at their violence and betrayal and Peredur knelt in the dust before the wise man and pled for Myrddin's counsel, for a way to end the bloodshed._

"_The face of the prophet was as stone as he listened to the pleas of the once proud King, and bent his hearing to the outcry of the people and the weeping of nature around him. 'There must be an end,' he whispered, he who had seen no such end to wars and strife within his long lifetime. Myrddin swept away to his secret place within the wood and Peredur lamented, clasping himself to the earth and shedding great tears of grief. But, in an instant, the prophet returned with his tools and devices, and helping the King to rise, bade him lead the sage to battle once again._

"_The armies met, savage and unrestrained even under the guiding hand of the scholar. Rydderch of Cymru agreed to join his forces to those of Peredur in deference to his brother-in-law, Myrddin, and met them in the field. At the Battle of Arfderydd the land grew black beneath the burning sky, and the cries of the wounded and dying smote the heart of the prophet even as his own plots and devices brought death to the invaders. When his eyes fell on the now sightless eyes of the three young brothers of Peredur lying as carrion beneath the beaks of the crows he railed against the very heavens and called upon the powers of the air to aid him in his despair. With a whirlwind, the sage was taken up before the eyes of friend and foe alike and, in a flash, he was gone._

"_Time passed and many forgot the wisdom and generosity of Myrddin, but word came to Rydderch through Morgan Le Fay that the sage was not lost, but wandered instead among the wilds where he might find peace once again. In simplicity he drifted in the lost places, far from the battles and struggles that ate at his soul, cared for by nature herself as he sought release from his burdens of guilt. And the kings of the land grew hopeful that the wisest of them all would one day return to lead them away from violence and into a peaceful future._

"_But even as the sage wandered, his mind free from conflict and toil, his heart was turned again and again to those he had left behind. The powers of nature soothed his restless spirit, bringing balm to comfort the raging passions within the great man and drawing him at last to Islands of Fortune where all was in readiness to receive him. Only there might he lay down his labors and rest. And for a time, he was content._

"_Myrddin knew in the hollow of his bones that the lives of men prospered not in his absence, that death stalked the land which had become his home, and he lamented his helplessness to bring them aid, but a great lassitude of mind and body stilled even his powerful essence, and he wandered, dim and distant, among the foreign worlds that had been prepared for him. As the years passed he forgot himself and those who waited desperately for his return, until one day, at last, the falling of a fiery leaf caught up in a sudden windstorm caught at his sight and, laughing wildly, he was reminded of the great forests of Dyved where he had dwelt so happily as advisor to kings and peasants both._

"_At once his heart quailed within him and he raised his eyes to the heavens. 'What have you done?' Myrddin cried, sickened by his betrayal of his adopted home and how he had so easily cast them off to the tender mercies of great evil. 'I must return, I must give them the tools that I have crafted to ease their way and find their future.' But the wind replied, 'No. You have done enough. Rest.' But Myrddin would not rest and made to leave the sanctuary in which he had been trapped, struggling against the very peace that he hoped to bring to those who awaited him. His wildness returned and the firmness of his resolve did rise to inflame his spirit._

"_Those powers which had answered his tormented cries at the Battle of Arfderydd, which had prepared a place of serenity to comfort his battered spirit, held him close and drew him once again to springs of peace to free his mind from worry. At his refusal to partake of the healing waters Morgan Le Fay appeared before his eyes, her face stern and baleful. Her beauty split the skies with light but he did not tremble, knowing himself to be her equal. She did warn the sage that there could be no healing to the land as long as Myrddin dwelt therein and shared his wisdom with the one side or the other – that his heart for the people would lead only to more violence and death. And Myrddin wept at her words._

"_Raising his eyes to the skies he surrendered up his instruments and devices, his contrivances and tools, his wisdom and foreknowledge, and laid his future in her hands. Morgan buried the vehicles of Myrddin's perception beneath the peaceful Spring of Barenton and placed her hand upon his heart in blessing. The gentleness of her gesture touched the sage's spirit and he looked upon her for one last time. 'Rest, Myrddin,' she murmured as the stillness of the waters crept over his limbs. 'All is not lost. Thy time shall come once again when one is found…'"_

"'…_when one is found_…' Surely the story does not end there, Daniel."

Daniel Jackson reached out to grasp the goblet that sat at the edge of his work table, wincing at the tremors that made the water shake and splash, sending drops to shower the papers beneath. Another hand curled around his, steadying him, and he raised his eyes to the bent head of Ba'al's First Prime where he stood at his side, the bright light of triumph in his dark eyes. Daniel forced himself to stillness, his own gaze steadier than his hands, until the Jaffa released him and let him bring the cool liquid to his dry mouth. No. The story didn't end there, but storytime was over – he couldn't, he _wouldn't _say those words. He drained the goblet and set it back in its place before turning to face the knowing smile on the thin figure behind him.

"The story goes on, but you already know the relevant parts." He tried to keep his focus on Ba'al's face, but it was difficult. The Goa'uld had taken to standing behind him as he worked, leaning his elbows casually on the lid of the sarcophagus as if it were just another piece of furniture. The thing haunted Daniel's thoughts, awake or asleep, and even though Ba'al never once suggested he return to it, the hunger for its effects burned along his nerves. He could taste the yearning in the back of his throat and closed his eyes to savor it for just a moment. His chest rose and fell quickly and he opened his mouth, stuttering in his haste to concentrate on anything but his need. "It - It's a version of the 'Wild Man of the Woods' story that is found in Geoffrey's _Vita Merlini_, or _Life of Merlin_ written in the 10th century." He licked at the last of the moisture that remained on his lips only to find the refilled goblet thrust before his face again. His eyes shifted for an instant to the disgustingly devoted First Prime that shadowed his each and every movement aboard the Goa'uld ship. Two days with Thellesan acting as his shadow. Or was it three? Damn. He'd lost track again.

He drank. What had he been saying? Oh, right. "It's the story of Merlin's involvement in one of the "Futile Battles" and his descent into madness at the carnage. Studies of the myths surrounding Merlin have turned up tales from this period when Merlin lived either in an untamed forest or with Morgan Le Fay and her husband, where he seemed to surface into sanity at times, only to prophesy some future horror that sent him back to madness. The legend says he was eventually healed at the Spring of Barenton, and actually used that same blessed water later to heal another madman, Maeldin. After this healing Merlin supposedly gave up his mantle of prophecy to Morgan and retired." He frowned down at the empty glass in his hand for a moment, a feeling of dread curling through his stomach. Raising his eyes to Ba'al's again he saw the amusement there and felt his mouth tighten. "But I've already told you all this, haven't I?"

The Goa'uld's laughter would have brought him off his chair in reaction, but two large hands on his shoulders held him in place and Daniel slumped back as he realized that this little scene had played itself out before as well. Weariness settled over him and he let the goblet fall from numb fingers to smash against the metal decking. He watched the splinters of glass explode, some catching against the thick material of his pants, some raining coldly against his bare feet. He tilted his chin in curiosity and lifted his right foot before slamming it down quickly on the razor-sharp fragments, grinding his heel into the shrapnel until he felt the pain burn away his confusion as the deep red of his blood spread into a pool at his feet.

With a stifled Goa'uld curse, Ba'al shot up, all humor gone from a face twisted in anger. "Stop it!" he barked, but it was Daniel's turn to laugh. The hands on his shoulders swept his chair backwards away from the tantalizing shards and Thellesan knelt, gripping his ankle tightly in both hands before Daniel could ram his heel against the deck again to grind the fragments further into his flesh. He let his head fall back as he savored the insistent throbbing that was laced with an intermittent brighter pain as the Jaffa pulled pieces of glass from the sensitive pad of his foot. He'd already explained the translation of the Ancient text he'd found on Bren-Nek-Mok and Daniel abruptly knew that he'd been free with enough other information to send the Goa'uld's ha'tak off in the right direction to follow Merlin's centuries old trail. Somewhere in the distance he heard Ba'al send one of his guards off for the hand-held healing device and he closed his eyes to try to keep a hold on his thoughts for just a little longer.

He _had_ been in the sarcophagus again – remembered opening his eyes to see Thellesan's feral grin more than once. The anger that simmered just beneath the surface flared and then, just as quickly, fell away, leaving him with a familiar feeling of emptiness. It was fine. It didn't matter. He just had to find the weapon. That much he remembered. He had to make it right, make the words true, fix it, _fix himself_. Suddenly there were tears in his eyes and he blinked rapidly, shame heating his cheeks, and he threw his arms over his face refusing to let them see him this way. He clenched his teeth against the sobs that threatened to loose themselves from his throat. No. _No._

Daniel returned to awareness as the tell-tale tingling in his foot began and the beloved pain started to recede. Dammit. He needed the pain to focus. He sat up and tried to drag his leg from the Jaffa's tight grip, but Thellesan merely looked up at him through half-lidded eyes and locked one hand around his ankle while placing the other palm stiffly on Daniel's thigh to press his leg into the seat beneath him. Daniel felt his lips stretch across his teeth and levered his left foot to rest against the First Prime's chest where he squatted awkwardly before him. Ba'al was focused on steadying the healing device over Daniel's self-inflicted injuries, one hand red with his blood where he held onto the archaeologist's foot. He tensed his muscles to begin to push.

"I would not." Thellesan's voice breathed a warning and Daniel hesitated, his eyes narrowing.

"Then get your hands the hell off of me," he snarled back.

The Jaffa slowly raised both eyebrows and relaxed the hand against Daniel's thigh, letting it rest there for a moment, searing his skin through the soft material of his black pants before snatching it out of the way. "Of course," he murmured.

The glow of the healing device vanished and Ba'al sat back on his haunches allowing Daniel's foot to fall to the floor. He shook his head from side to side as he caught the human's eye. "Now look at the mess you've made, Daniel," he sighed. "Perhaps we should all take a break before we arrive." The Goa'uld let his gaze flick between the Taur'i and the Jaffa as he drew the device from his hand. "A bath, a hot meal, and a change of clothes should help you put everything into its proper perspective, my dear scholar." Ba'al smirked. "You needn't remind me how excited you are anticipating the retrieval of Merlin's weapon, or what lengths you'd go to in order to acquire it. I can honestly say that I cannot wait to see you follow through on those single-minded desires we've spoken about during the past few days. We've only a few hours left to wait." He rose to his feet and held out one hand as if to help the human up. "I'll just let Thellesan accompany you to your quarters and make sure you have everything you need, shall I?"

Ignoring the gesture, Daniel placed both feet flat on the floor and pushed himself up, disappointed to feel that no pain remained. "Keep your damned Jaffa," Daniel spit, "I can find my own way." He took a few steps towards the door but paused, turning. "I'll find it," he stated coldly, his voice teetering between determination and hysteria, and Ba'al had no difficulty keeping up with the rapid change of subject. "I have to find it." Daniel stumbled into the corridor, trailing the arrogant First Prime in his wake.

"Oh, I know you do," Ba'al replied to the empty air.


	30. Chapter 30

Chapter Thirty

Mitchell stood next to the wooden frame that housed the iron bell in the center of the Hostan village, working hard to maintain his casual pose as a humble member of the community, sidearm and zat carefully concealed beneath his thick vest. It had been four days since SG-1 had hightailed it back to the Jaffa planet and 'gated through to the SGC with Reynolds and his men to explain their strategy to the two anxious generals. He swept his gaze around the quiet village checking positions, making sure nothing seemed out of place and that the weapons they'd brought in from the SGC were well hidden. The SG-3 Marines were concealed in the upper floors of some of the larger Hostan buildings with eye-lines to both the square and the arched pathway that led to the temple area – after one look at Reynolds and his men in traditional clothing, Cam knew that they wouldn't fool anyone with one good eye into thinking they were anything but military men playing dress-up. Sam, Teal'c, and Vala were with SG-2 in the temple grounds, where the heavy white and red robes allowed them to hold onto their vests and P90s. Feeling the thick leather of his belt folded double beneath his clenching grip, Mitchell forced his muscles to relax. Second guessing wouldn't do him any good now – he had to go with the plan they'd agreed on, even if that little niggling doubt that kept chewing at his brain was growing bigger teeth with every heartbeat.

He remembered the dark intensity of O'Neill's gaze pinning him in his place across the conference table where they'd gathered with the leaders of the other SG teams. The general hadn't let his wheels get too used to the feel of the Washington tarmac before he'd ordered his plane back to Colorado, coming close to wrestling the pilot for the controls if Mitchell didn't know better. Exhaustion and stress didn't make O'Neill any easier to get along with, Cam noted, but turned the man's eyes to glittering coals that singed whatever they touched. O'Neill knew the consequences of putting Daniel Jackson, Ba'al, and a sarcophagus together for any period of time first-hand, not through some tepid words typed on a flat piece of paper. Been there, done that, didn't need any God damned t-shirt to remember it.

How he and Landry had managed to bite back their questions long enough for Sam to lead them through the science still amazed him. Mitchell's own supply of patience hadn't gotten any deeper during the tense three hour journey back to P5R-118 under the watchful eyes of the Odyssey's commander and crew, but at least Reynolds and the rest of SG-3 had been packed up and ready for them when they hit the dirt, already dialing home before the whine of the Asgard beams had died away – he hadn't been in the mood for any more discussion. Cam had actually been relieved to surrender his weapon to the SF at the base of the ramp as his urge to shoot something hadn't exactly dwindled, either. He'd never been good at waiting.

Oh, he could do it – nine months in rehab trying to figure out if he'd ever make it back to active duty had taught him a little bit about killing time, but at least in the hospital he could exhaust himself every day working towards a goal. This sitting around yammering about the effect of sound waves on brain function was enough to, well, if past experience was any indication, send his mouth and his blood pressure into overdrive. He'd slowly leaned back in his chair, biting at the inside of his cheek to keep from speaking, and crossed his arms, distancing himself from the temptation to tap nervously on the table. He remembered glancing at General O'Neill and noticing that the man had adopted the exact same posture across the table. Maybe they were more alike than he liked to think.

"…it wasn't until I looked at the readings the science teams had taken on the Jaffa planet that I put it all together, sir," Sam hurried through the explanation, apparently just as intent to get the two generals to issue the necessary orders to move men and materials, not to mention Emerson's ship, into position. Cam noticed that his blonde teammate kept her gaze strictly on the two superior officers, leaning over the table as if her proximity would make the two men understand, get them to see the patterns that had convinced SG-1 that abandoning the chase across the 'Islands of Fortune' solar system after Ba'al's ship was the right move. His gaze had drifted down the table to see that Teal'c was staring at some point over O'Neill's head, the jumping of that one muscle in his jaw the only indication of his own need to _do_ something.

"Water?" Landry's heavy eyebrows rose in disbelief, but his voice betrayed his anxiety. Mitchell recognized the signs of the same kind of frustration he'd been feeling in his commanding officer's face and tried to rein himself in – how much worse must it be for the man whose role was to stay behind, who had ordered Jackson to remain on the Jaffa world and therefore right into Ba'al's hands. He shook his head. God save me from stars on my shoulders, he thought to himself, and the kind of job where I waited to see if men and women – friends - I ordered into combat ever returned. "Your rather brief report from the Odyssey," Landry continued, "suggested Ba'al was continuing his search for Merlin's weapon along the same trail that we'd found, and that, for some reason, this water had some major significance. Enough to bring you back here rather than following your orders to track down Dr. Jackson." The general's mouth tightened. "This had better be good, Colonels."

"Sir, the water is not – it cannot be natural. It's not just water: it gives off an energy signature that should not be there." Sam jabbed one pointed finger at the sheaf of printouts she'd prepared while still aboard ship.

"And?" O'Neill's one word demand for an explanation came out sharp and biting.

"Sir, these readings match the ones I recorded from the second planet in the system that we'd explored – the planet with the high background radiation. The groundwater there had receded much further beneath the planet's crust so I didn't immediately recognize the matching frequencies and harmonics, but taking the depth into consideration, as well as the geological structure of each planet…"

"Carter!" Jack waved away the science with one hand and leaned forward. "Bottom line, Colonel. Now." His eyes twitched back to Mitchell for a moment before he turned all of his attention back to his former 2IC. "I know you didn't decide to leave Daniel with Ba'al because of some science project."

Mitchell watched silently as Sam obviously bit back what she wanted to say and mentally switched tracks. "Bottom line, sir." The anger in her voice raised the hairs on the back of his neck. "The energy signature that was recorded from the samples taken from the Jaffa planet and the second planet in the system matched the readings that I took from the spring on P2L-688, the Hostan world. Each of these worlds, and I'd bet all of the planets in the 'Islands of Fortune' system were engineered, designed with an underground layer of this so-called water. The waves that we've recorded from each source are distinctive and identical, and they look like sound waves."

"The same kind of sound waves that make that little black thing with the blue lights that Sam's been experimenting with in her lab interfere with the powers of the Priors," Vala inserted as she strode into the briefing room clutching a large, ornate book that could only have come from one place. Landry had ordered her to the infirmary as soon as she stumbled through the wormhole, and had enforced it with an SF escort. Mitchell wasn't surprised that Dr. Lam didn't have any better success keeping Vala under treatment than the doctors on the Odyssey had.

Vala flashed a big smile at SG-3's Reynolds and he hastily abandoned his seat at the table and, with a flourish, relieved her of her heavy burden and seated her in his place.

"The anti-prior device," Landry deduced, ignoring Vala and watching Sam for her nod of confirmation. "You're saying this water works in the same way and could disrupt the mind powers of the Ori?"

"Not just the Ori," Vala spoke as Sam was opening her mouth. "Oh, sorry, were we not up to that bit yet?" she whispered, finally noticing the charged atmosphere in the briefing room.

"Sir," Mitchell shot her a crushing glance and reached out to point at Sam's printouts. "The inscriptions found at both Hosta and the Jaffa world are pretty good indications that the Ancients had some pretty heavy-handed involvement in both places."

"So what?" Jack spat. "What the hell does this have to do with the fact that you left Daniel with Ba'al to chase after the newest in a long line of wild geese?"

"Jack," Landry drawled, his sallow smile and easy tone definitely not fooling anyone into thinking that he was taking any of this lightly.

"Yeah, I get it, Hank," Jack retorted quickly, slicing through the air with one hand, "maybe we can lure the Ori to these planets so that they lose all their fancy powers and settle down to become gardeners and goat herders like the Jaffa. What the hell does that have to do with finding Daniel?"

"O'Neill." The deep-voiced Jaffa had finally spoken up and the threatening stare of the former leader of SG-1 landed on the broad, dark face. "Do you believe we would easily leave Daniel Jackson behind," the general visibly winced at that particular phrase, "in the hands of Ba'al if we did not have reason to?" His words were soft but spoken with an undercurrent of emotion that immediately broke through General O'Neill's anger. "Why did Ba'al send his forces to the Jaffa world?" Teal'c directed his question to the room with one raised eyebrow.

"He wants Merlin's weapon, the same as we do," Colonel Reynolds spoke up. "That's why he played that game with his clones a few months ago, to find out the list of 'gate addresses in our computer system."

"General – Generals," Sam corrected herself, still apparently seething from O'Neill's previous attack, "Ba'al finding Daniel on the Jaffa world was probably a coincidence. One that he'll exploit and use to his advantage, yes, but his ultimate goal is to track down the clues the Ancients have left in this galaxy to find the weapon and use it to defeat the Ori and anyone else who opposes him."

Mitchell looked around at the faces in the SGC briefing room –everyone in there had some kind of history with Jackson, some memories of the man or some connection that ran deeper and longer than his own, especially O'Neill. Jackson wasn't just important to his team or to this command because of his cultural breakthroughs over the past ten years: some of these people had witnessed his deepest hurts, his greatest achievements, and the day-to-day heroism that defined him, something that reading all those reports had helped Mitchell only begin to understand. On those rare occasions when he was feeling completely honest with himself, Cam admitted that he hadn't understood the attitudes that ran through those reports; he didn't get how some of the hardest-assed soldiers he'd ever read about could have that much regard for a civilian consultant, even one who'd been with the program for so long. No, it only sank in after he'd lived in the guy's back pocket for a year and watched him deal with another set of personal losses without it touching the inner strength of the man. And, looking at the drawn faces in this room, even if he was still the new guy, he knew they were all thinking the same thing he was and that they were hating themselves for doing it, just like him. But someone had to say it, and maybe only he could. He felt the burning in his gut already.

"And who better to help Ba'al with his search than a compromised Dr. Daniel Jackson." He swallowed bile at how heartless the words had sounded. Silence greeted him.

"Yeah."

It was a soft sound, almost a sigh, but it drew Mitchell's eyes to the person he least expected to agree with him.

"By this point, 'compromised' is probably a bit of an understatement," Jack O'Neill continued, rubbing both hands over his closed eyes as if he couldn't face what he'd just said. He dropped heavily back against the chair. When he looked up he met Mitchell's eyes and nodded, once, before turning his attention back to Sam. "So you think Daniel understands this connection to Hosta and has told Ba'al about it?"

"We do, O'Neill," Teal'c responded, his hands clasped firmly before him. "Daniel Jackson cannot resist the power of the sarcophagus and would be the first among us to recognize the significance of the Ancient writings…"

"Actually," Vala drew all eyes to her as she opened the heavily tooled leather-bound volume she'd retrieved from Daniel's office, "Daniel had already figured it out – he told me back on the Jaffa planet that he knew the story that the Ancient texts were based on. It was an old story, one of the oldest among the Camelot mythology of your world, a story about Merlin and how he went a little crazy for a while after a particularly fierce battle, and how he was magically transported to a wilderness where he wandered for a long time, forgetting the war, forgetting his promise to assist Arthur and his men, forgetting even his own name."

"Which would make sense if he was exposed to the kinds of sound wave energy that the water on all these worlds gives off." Sam hitched herself forward in her chair. "We know the effects of that water on humans first hand, sir. Imagine what prolonged exposure would do."

"The Jaffa themselves were not unaffected," Teal'c added. "They quickly turned their backs on the aggression that had dominated their lives once they settled on the planet." He paused for a moment. "The effects are indeed powerful to have influenced so deeply those who carry a Goa'uld symbiote," he almost growled.

"But, if the stories and writings have any basis in fact, it was the Ancients who designed these worlds, and with Morgan Le Fay in the mix," Cam shrugged, "it had to have something to do with neutralizing Merlin and his weapon. And since the Ori and the Ancients started out as one species, both achieving Ascension with completely different purposes, what would affect one should affect the other."

"General," Vala added quickly before either Landry or O'Neill could come up with another question, "the story was called 'The Wild Man of the Woods.'"

"Didn't Dr. Jackson say that was part of the story that was written in that garden on Hosta right outside the temple?" Landry asked.

Sam nodded. "And if Daniel has made the connection…" She had looked so sad, her blue eyes locked onto O'Neill's.

"…and you know he has…" Jack replied with an uncomfortable smile.

"…then we must assume that Ba'al now knows of the Hostan world and its connection to the Ancients and Morgan Le Fay." Teal'c bowed his head in reluctant agreement.

"So the weapon _is_ there?" Reynolds was frowning.

Vala shrugged. "Just because we haven't found it doesn't mean it's not there, it could be that the interference from the water is hiding it. And, more importantly, it's a connection that Ba'al will not be able to ignore."

"Daniel knows we've sent personnel there to do further testing and research. Ba'al will want to get there before we find whatever there is to find – he can always come back to the 'Fortunate Isles' later," Cam added.

Landry's eyes had narrowed. "How much time do we have before Ba'al can get to P2L-688?"

Sam shook her head. "We don't know exactly, sir. We don't know how long Daniel can hold out against the influence of the sarcophagus, or when Ba'al would give up his search of the Fortunate Isles system. But based on the best speed capable of a Goa'uld mothership, the earliest that Ba'al could arrive at Hosta would be 36 hours from now."

"Is that enough time to relocate the Hostan people and get our teams into position?"

Cam met Reynolds' eyes for a moment. "Yes, sir. We think that The Land of Light would be a good temporary location – the cultures aren't exactly at the same level, but they're close enough to make it comfortable, and there's been no Ori presence detected there yet."

Landry stood just as Chief Master Sergeant Walter Harriman stepped into the briefing room.

"Walter! Dial up Tuplo and we'll see if he's up for some visitors." Landry ordered, sharing a shrug with O'Neill at the man's uncanny ability to anticipate.

"Yes, sir."

"And I need an open line to Colonel Emerson on the Odyssey in five minutes," he added as Harriman hurried from the room. Landry gathered Reynolds, Feretti, and Major Janks, the leader of SG-17, with a glance. "Get your teams together – familiarize yourselves with the reports on Hosta SG-1 filed and come up with your proposals. We'll hold a joint meeting in six hours to finalize strategy and you'll 'gate out to meet up with SG-5 to assist in relocation of the Hostan villagers at 0800 tomorrow morning." The three men headed out.

"We're gonna need some firepower, Hank," Jack advised. "Ba'al's Jaffa aren't going to just lay down when they find us there ahead of them – he's not going to give up Daniel without a fight."

Cam had felt his own eyes narrowing. "'We,' sir?"

O'Neill had just stared.

"Jack, we can't risk you out there, you know that," Landry had been quick to point out.

"Hank –" He stood, an obstinate, unmovable force. "If anyone can get through to Daniel, I can. I've done it before…"

"That is why you must stay here, O'Neill." Mitchell had been surprised to hear the deep voice of his teammate interrupting his former CO. Teal'c had risen from the table and turned his warm gaze on his friend. "When SG-1 retrieves Daniel Jackson, he will need you."

"Look, T –"

Teal'c had cocked his head. "Do you not trust us, O'Neill?" he asked softly.

Yeah, that was the question. O'Neill had eventually backed down, but Mitchell felt his eyes following him throughout the strategy meetings, weapons checks, and briefings, almost as if he were conducting an on-the-spot performance evaluation. More likely, Mitchell had reminded himself, the general was biding his time, waiting for Mitchell to say or do something that would allow him to step in and take over the rescue op – something he obviously itched to do.

That's why it had surprised him when O'Neill had flopped into the commissary chair across from him at o-dark-thirty clutching a mate to Mitchell's coffee mug. The place wasn't as empty as it usually was at that time of the morning – word spread fast under the mountain, and even the support staff was too keyed up to sleep. Mitchell could identify. He looked up and, for the first time, noticed the lines of age and worry that feathered from the corners of the general's eyes and criss-crossed his neck. The shoulders were hunched, his hands wrapped loosely around the steaming cup, eyes lowered. He didn't look at all like a superior officer coming to relieve him of command; he did look like a man who was strung out with worry for his best friend.

"I'd almost forgotten how to do this," O'Neill murmured to his cup.

Mitchell sat forward, straining to hear the soft words but no more came. "To do what, sir?"

Jack glanced up and met Mitchell's just for a second. "To pull the uniform on over all the stuff hidden underneath and just get on with the job." He straightened slowly, and Mitchell knew the older man was feeling every muscle as it stretched and popped, reminders of the years he'd spent working missions just like the one Mitchell was about to lead, whether on Earth or somewhere out there beyond the watery blue surface of the wormhole. "The farther you get from this place, the more surreal this all becomes," he added, waving one arm over the table. "Sitting at my desk in Washington reading the reports, the emails from Carter, or hearing Daniel's voice across the phone lines at odd hours because he's forgotten about the time difference – it reminds you."

Mitchell waited, but apparently O'Neill wasn't going to explain. "Reminds you of…?"

Jack didn't raise his head.

Cam stilled. He didn't know if he was ready for another heart to heart with the taciturn general after the one he'd shared with Jackson in the infirmary less than a week ago. _"'Did you think the phrase, 'leave no man behind' only referred to off-world situations? Even with your minimal time here, you have enough military experience to know that friendly-fire is just as fatal as enemy fire.'"_ Standing there over Jackson's bed, the general had uttered some harsh truths, that Cam had been forced to swallow. 'Leave no man behind.' They'd all been so sure that all the danger was out there somewhere on the Odyssey, that Jackson would be protected by staying on the Jaffa planet. He crossed his arms over his chest and tightened down his expression. Why did his best intentions always seem to result in Jackson's hurt?

"I'd understand if you were here to relieve me, sir," Mitchell admitted. "But I hope you won't."

O'Neill lifted his head and watched the closely shuttered face of the lieutenant colonel.

"I'm not perfect – you reminded me of that yourself not too long ago," Mitchell continued. "But I'm good. And I think I've earned my place here." He leaned forward. "I'll bring my teammate back."

Eyes met, light and dark, one pair measuring and one determined, both unwavering. "To answer your question," O'Neill tilted his chin to one side as if to tell Mitchell that his not so subtle reference to 'his teammate' had been duly noted, "it reminds me that any perception of control that I might have had while I was here at the SGC in whatever capacity, even when I was out there with _my_ team," his eyes glittered as he emphasized the possessive pronoun, "was a crock." He raised his hand to point in the general direction of the 'gate room. "You take one step through that blue puddle and you can kiss control good-bye."

Mitchell nodded. "'If things seem under control, you're just not going fast enough.'"

Jack raised his eyebrows.

"Mario Andretti," Cam smiled. "But, I get it, sir. I guess it's kinda like your kids going off to college. While they're still living at home you're always listening for the car to pull into the driveway when they're out late, waiting for the telephone to ring and tell you bad news. But when they move away, eventually you realize you can't maintain that level of worry until you see them again. At least," he dropped his head, "that's the way my dad explained it to me."

O'Neill seemed to be thinking it over. "Good analogy," he quipped, one side of his mouth lifting. "For the first few months away from this place I fought the urge to jump every time the phone rang. But, eventually you realize," he mimicked Mitchell's tone, "all you can do is your job." He took a sip of the over-brewed coffee and sighed dramatically at the familiar taste. "And SG-1 is _your_ _job_ now," Jack admitted, to himself and the young man who sat across the table. "But Daniel Jackson is _my friend_, and you'd better the hell go out there and get him."

Frowning fiercely, Mitchell only allowed himself a short nod. The officers drank their cooling coffee in silence as airmen and civilians wandered in and out of the room in ones and twos. At length, Cam tried to put into words his respect for the legend opposite him. "Earlier, in the briefing," he began, "I remember looking at you and General Landry and hoping I'd never get to your rank, sir. That I'd never have to…"

"…sit around on your ass and watch everyone else risk their lives?" Jack wryly completed the thought when it was clear Mitchell couldn't.

"More like order men and women into danger and then stay behind to try to pick up the pieces afterward."

Jack groaned and rubbed the abused muscles at the back of his neck. "It's not the rank that does it to you, Mitchell, or the orders." He pointed at the SG-1 patch on its leader's shoulder. "It's all part of the wacky magic that makes SG-1 the best damn team out there and, at the same time, the one that's most likely to be at the heart of the latest shit-storm." He grabbed Mitchell's empty cup up with his own and rose from the table, gesturing for Mitchell to follow. "Some days picking up the pieces is the best you can do."

"Sir?"

At the commissary door Jack halted. "Enough talk, Mitchell. It's late – or early. Get some sleep so you can bring all of Daniel's pieces back here tomorrow."

vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

"Cam."

"Go, Carter."

"Be advised. Mothership just entering orbit."

Mitchell waited, hand poised over his radio. "Give me the good news."

"I have a lock on Daniel's transponder signal." He heard the relief in her voice that mirrored his own. _Gotcha._

"How far out is the Odyssey?"

"At least another six hours."

He gritted his teeth. "Got it. Looks like we do this the old fashioned way." He clicked the send button on his radio again. "SG-1-niner to SG-2, 3, 7 and 15. Heads up, people. I want immediate word of any sighting of hostiles, Jackson, or ring transporters." There was no way he was going to wait another six hours for the Odyssey to show up so they could use its beaming technology: if Jackson didn't come down, they'd have to find a way to get up to Ba'al's ship and get him.

**A/N: Final chapters coming. Thanks for staying with me!**


	31. Chapter 31

Chapter Thirty-One

Daniel's eyes opened on the same golden reliefs he'd awoken to that first day on Ba'al's ship. The serpents still bit and clawed at each other, twining and roiling in sensuous embraces and brutal attacks, eyes glittering with wild need and the raging desire to dominate. He remembered thinking the images horrible, disgusting, and wondered why - why he hadn't seen the beauty and truth reflected there. There was no life without battle, without the struggle for control. It was an innate part of every living being, and at the core of the human heart. He frowned. He knew he hadn't always thought this way.

Daniel's eyes slid closed again as he tried to find himself within the memories of cold grey hallways and placid, indifferent faces that contained no fervor, no passion, and no darkness. They floated across his mind but bore no weight, no substance, no ties to bind them to his soul. There were names, feelings that belonged to each one somehow, and a few seemed to drag at his mind's eye, willing him to see, to remember, to reconnect. A dark beauty framed with curls and wearing desert robes touched off a coiled despair deep within him; a chiseled smirking mask with eyes that spoke of loyalty and affection brought an unwanted sense of loss. He rose quickly from his couch, brushing away the remnants of his discarded life, clutching tightly to the anger that fueled his existence within the here and now. This was all that mattered.

He heard the door slide open behind him as he moved to the table and poured the sparkling wine that had been left there into an ornate golden goblet. The liquid warmed his throat and seeped through his tissues with a welcome fire. Daniel did not need to turn to recognize the presence at his back; this game was an old one, and one that he continued to play only to remind his 'host' of his continued stubborn independence.

"Did you rest well?"

The rich voice never failed to evoke an immediate sense of loathing. Daniel grimaced and poured himself another cup. His fingers traced the raised patterns and remembered the feeling of cool glass beneath his hands. At some point the glass had been replaced with metal – a fleeting curiosity passed over his features as he chased the thought for an instant.

"Daniel? Did you hear me?" The hated presence now stood only inches behind his right shoulder, a light hand curled around his arm; face pressed so close that Daniel was forced to breathe the other's breath. It smelled of victory.

He uncurled his clenched fingers from the cool metal in his hand and bent to place the cup gently on the table, sliding neatly away from the Jaffa's nearness. "I did," he stated calmly, knowing that outright hostility would only fuel Thellesan's pursuit. Pacing slowly towards the hidden doorway on the other side of the chamber that would open to reveal a small bathing room, Daniel stumbled to a halt when the insistent hand closed around his arm again. He felt his lips narrow and he jerked to his right, instinctually moving to break the physical connection as he turned to snarl at the smirking Jaffa at his side.

Thellesan opened his hand, raising his eyebrows in mock surprise at Daniel's reaction, but a smirk hovered at his mouth and his eyes broadcast his continued amusement. He raised a bundle of cloth which he held over his left arm. "I only wished to show you the clothing my lord has provided for your travels today." He lifted his fingers to stroke the soft black fabric that stretched over Daniel's shoulder. "This would not offer much protection from whatever – or whoever – we find on the planet below." Dark eyes stared into Daniel's as if daring him to retreat as the caress moved to trace his collarbone toward the notch at the base of his throat. The Jaffa's thumb pressed into the hollow, increasing the pressure as he slid his hand up the firm column of Daniel's neck, his gaze trapping the human's blue one.

He felt it the moment Thellesan cut off his air, but the Jaffa gentled his hold almost immediately, brushing his fingertips lightly around to his nape before Daniel could object, react, push him away.

"My Lord Ba'al requests your presence," the First Prime whispered, stepping forward to eliminate any gap between the men's bodies, his hand grasping the soft short hairs at the back of Daniel's head. The quivering muscles registering all along the length of his body where it pressed against the human's as the scholar struggled to hide his disgust at the intimate touch threatened to overwhelm the First Prime and he closed his hand, pulling against Daniel's determined resistance. His craving to own, to punish, to devour the man's entire being seared painfully through his veins and the Jaffa shuddered, teeth gritted, having reached the very threshold of his self-control. His Master demanded the man intact, untouched, and Thellesan had carefully acquiesced, maintaining enough deliberate contact to unsettle his captive, to keep him at the very peak of rage and repugnance and himself at the edge of his craven desire. But the hatred drew him – persistently, relentlessly. The human's hatred was deep and damning, turned first and foremost and most profoundly on himself, so much so that his presence became a heady perfume drawing Thellesan to the brink of disobedience to his Master's warnings.

The sharp pain in his gut froze his limbs and a wave of pain and panic radiated from the very center of his being.

"Back off." The absolute emptiness of the blue eyes not inches from his own warned Thellesan – the human had reached his end. The Taur'i scholar would squeeze the life from the young Goa'uld within his belly if the First Prime persisted in his intentions. A horrible death, tortuous for both symbiote and Jaffa. Thellesan's lips curved into a smile as he felt Daniel's hand grip more tightly around the thrashing body of his symbiote- the satisfaction he felt at the human's capacity to inflict pain was equaled by his arousal at the intimate contact. Anguish still rippled at the edge of the human's voice and Thellesan knew that the pain he was intentionally causing the Jaffa was reflected back towards his own soul as if by hundreds of mirrors set at precise angles to compound the hurt. It was almost too much to resist, but he reluctantly released his pressure on the young man's neck, deliberately stroking his fingers through Daniel's hair once more before letting go.

Daniel stepped backwards and withdrew his hand from the symbiote pouch, staring down at the viscous fluid that coated his fingers before he could raise his eyes to other's. "I would have done it."

"I know," Thellesan replied proudly.

The archaeologist shivered. "Clothes?" The Jaffa's words spoken only a few moments ago gave him an anchor to something normal, something without the devastating overtones that had come to color his life over these past few days… weeks… however long it had taken for this nightmare to become his world. His attention was caught by the shimmering fabric draped over the First Prime's arm. The white fabric. He sneered. "White?"

The Jaffa's smile widened. "What else would my Master provide to clothe the –"

The snarl ripped from Daniel's throat. "I told you not to-"

"How did the verse go?" Thellesan would not be silenced. "'All is not lost.'" he airily quoted the words Daniel translated from the Ancient stones – the same words he had refused to utter more than once, that refusal having come to reveal just how embittered the human had become against himself. "'Thy time shall come once again when one is found who has learned to embrace his true path and whose truth of spirit has allowed him to accept his awful purposes. This one shall touch the very heart of the universe and come away scathed and yet pure.'" He watched the blows fall again against the human's one vulnerability- the one his Master had so easily recognized and exploited from the very beginning. "'The one whose bright essence shall shield the weak and save us all from the darkness.'"

Daniel's jaw ached from clenching it against the familiar denials. He turned away and strode back towards his couch, rejection radiating from his back. His knees banged painfully into the wooden frame. He flung himself around to face the Jaffa again, laughing- a mean, low sound tinged with exasperation. "How many times do I have to tell you people that it isn't me? It can't be me!"

Thellesan cocked his head to one side, his dark eyes soft with mockery. "Then who?"

"I don't know! But I'm telling you, it isn't me." The often repeated argument had suddenly siphoned off all of his energy, his anger, and Daniel was left with a shaking emptiness. "Believe me," he whispered, "I can't-" He cut himself off abruptly.

"My Master believes you are the one, Daniel," the Jaffa stated. "Now, I will not be punished for your refusal." Thellesan carefully smoothed the clothing that still lay over his arm. "Will you bathe and dress yourself, or will it be necessary for me to assist you?" He let his gaze sweep slowly over the tense figure before him.

"You know what? Fine!" Daniel grabbed the offending outfit from the Jaffa's arm and stomped towards the bath. "Ba'al wants to waste his time trying to fit me into some kind of 'pure and true' mold, that's just fine with me."

As the scholar closed the doors firmly behind him Thellesan smoothed the thin chain mail that covered his symbiote's pouch, sending thoughts of comfort and a mutual desire for a settling of scores against one who would threaten a god towards the still writhing creature. Once his Lord Ba'al had acquired the Ancient weapon, the need for the human to remain 'pure' would be over. And, with the sarcophagus at his disposal, his lust to possess the human, to reign over his body and soul, could be satiated again and again and again. His Master had promised.

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"…and I told you, I don't know," Daniel snapped. "It amazes me that a being who believes he can rule the galaxy has such a limited memory!" He flung himself towards the viewscreen at the nose of the peltac aboard Ba'al's mothership and watched the red and yellow world grow to fill his vision. He couldn't help backing away a pace. "Are you landing? You're not landing, are you?" Daniel flung a look over his shoulder at the Goa'uld calmly seated on the single chair set up on its raised dais.

Ba'al chuckled noiselessly, watching the nervous energy of the Taur'i scholar. He'd timed their arrival at the Hostan world quite carefully, making sure that his "guest" would be just beginning to feel the raw edge of his need for another visit to the sarcophagus as the planet came into view, effectively assuring his good behavior as they searched for the weapon. The linguist had adamantly refused any knowledge of the location of the weapon's hiding place, claiming that he would have to physically search the village and the temple area for any clues that SG-1 had missed on their first trip to the alien world. At this point, Daniel Jackson was incapable of subterfuge – and the lure of the sarcophagus would keep him under Ba'al's complete control.

"No, Daniel. I don't plan on frightening the natives any more than is necessary," he replied at last, rising to take his place beside the human. "You have assured me that only one humanitarian SG team may be present on the surface. I expect my Jaffa can easily handle a handful of Taur'i scientists." He fingered the curl of the gold ribbon device on his left hand. "But, if I find you have lied to me, you know I will not hesitate to bombard this planet from space, killing everyone on its surface, before I begin my search."

"Yes, yes – warn, threaten, bully – I get it," Daniel muttered, his mind skittering over the possibility that the SGC would have made the same connections that he had with the Ancient clues. No. Ba'al had taken care of the Ancient site on Bren-Mek-Nok and had left no trace of Daniel's own research for any of the other linguists to try to tackle. Mitchell was probably still chasing his tail across the Islands of Fortune solar system trying to anticipate Ba'al's next move. He snorted at the mental picture. _Yeah, go ahead, leave me behind_, Daniel mused. Without me you guys would still be trying to figure out what those thirty-nine funny little pictures on the great big ring thing you found buried in the Egyptian sands meant. Lieutenant Colonel Cameron Mitchell would be flying recon patterns over Elmendorf until his nuts froze off. He crossed his arms and grinned at the mental picture. A heavy hand on his shoulder brought him back to the moment and he turned his head to watch Ba'al studying him.

"What?" he snapped, annoyed.

Ba'al merely tilted his chin and smiled thinly.

"Look, I told you, I'm not this 'truth of spirit' guy you're looking for." Daniel gestured at himself with one arm. "You can dress me up in this ridiculous get-up and smile knowingly, but a legendary savior of the galaxy I'm not."

The Goa'uld took a step back as if to evaluate the human's complaint. The glistening white fabric of the pants and jacket he'd provided served a number of purposes – most importantly to set Daniel apart from any of his Jaffa. If there were SG teams on the surface of the planet they would think twice about firing at a group of figures that beamed in if one of those could be easily identified as their own Dr. Daniel Jackson. As for the natives of the village – the very simplicity of the outfit only drew one's eye to the striking looks and intensity of the Taur'i, something that even Ba'al's own millennia of experience did not immure him towards. It was as if he had given Daniel a blank canvas against which his passion and personality could shine. And finally, the hide of the animal from which the fabric was made offered additional protection for the human from his own reckless enthusiasm. It would not stop bullets or staff weapon fire, but it would keep the off-balance scholar from injuring himself during his search.

"You insist on your inability to fulfill the role the Ancients have clearly designed for you. False modesty does not become you, Daniel."

Daniel brushed both hands through his hair in a mannerism he knew he'd seen many times before. Frustration- it meant someone was frustrated. Who? Dammit, he hated the fact that his memories were all screwed up; he couldn't keep his mental balance, kept stumbling over sudden feelings and fleeting doubts.

"Daniel?"

He sighed and turned away from the viewscreen to face the Goa'uld. "Why won't you believe me? I always thought, of all the Goa'uld we've come across, that Ba'al was fairly smart. After all, he survived the decimation of his race, was able to make other allies and be flexible enough to carve out a place for himself within a very different galaxy." He narrowed his eyes. "Are you- are you so damaged from this cloning thing," he waved his arms up and down at the silent figure before him, "that you lose all that? That your brain turns to mush?"

"Careful, Dr. Jackson," Ba'al allowed one side of his mouth to hitch up in a warning smile. The Jaffa stationed at the controls shifted uneasily behind him.

"Why, why, why would I lie about this?" He felt the familiar tightness in his chest, his breath coming in short gasps, his eyes widening against the tears that were always too close to the surface. "Don't you think I'd like to be the one… that I want to…" Daniel clamped his mouth shut. Struggling, he leaned forward, blinking, whispering. "I _know_, all right? I'm not that guy anymore." Morgan told him. It was something he felt at the very core of his being.

Ba'al watched and waited, searching the face of the tormented man. "You are not the man who once Ascended, are you Daniel?"

Closing his eyes, Daniel nodded in dark relief.

"You are no longer the moral compass of your people, the ideological young man who stands firmly against violence except as a last resort."

Ironic, wasn't it, Daniel thought to himself. All those years trying to tell Jack and General Hammond that there was more to life than finding weapons and he'd spent the past year of his life devoted to that very thing. Jack must be wetting himself with excitement so he could finally say 'I told you so.'

"You have started wars, you have urged others to kill, you have opened entire worlds to the evil of the Ori."

He'd destroyed Kane's planet- him, Daniel Jackson. Demanded Khalek die. Sacrificed billions to the Ori's crusade in order to satisfy his curiosity. Despair battled with howling fury at the center of his soul.

The silence expanded. "I never really went in much for legends."

Daniel opened his eyes on the thin-faced Goa'uld's smirk.

"Always seemed a bit one-dimensional to me; tin-plated heroes can rarely stand up against those with, well, a larger repertoire of techniques at hand," Ba'al walked back towards his throne. "You'll find the weapon, Daniel. And together, we will destroy the Ori."

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A cold wind blew a rampart of dark clouds across the heavens and turned the Hostan afternoon into twilight hours too soon. Teal'c peered from beneath the hooded red robe, quickly taking in the position of Vala Mal Doran where she crouched within the sculpted gardens of the temple courtyard, her white robe bunched untidily over TAC vest and weapons. Members of SG-2 were scattered near the central spring house where Sam had installed her surveillance equipment, while the other teams were split between guarding the 'gate and holding positions within the temple itself, the most likely goal of Daniel Jackson. Colonel Ferretti, leader of SG-2, mirrored Teal'c's own pose at the temple door and the Jaffa glanced across at the large, motionless figure. The sharp crack of thunder and a flash of lightning heralding the squall caused figures to jump, bringing weapons to bear on the empty air. Colonel Carter's voice flowed into his hearing from the earwig he'd hidden beneath his hood.

"Hold your positions. Keep focused."

Teal'c centered himself, shifting his weight to maintain balance and felt the concentrated hush of the approaching storm. The rain came all at once, dropping in straight sheets to the ground in a hissing screen of sound and haze. The soft light that grew at the west end of the temple courtyard could have been a lull in the downpour, or the glow of the afterimage of a lightning strike - but it wasn't. He felt Ferretti tense beside him even as he reached for the radio at his belt. One click, a pause, and then three.

"Teal'c?"

One click for yes.

Teal'c's eyes narrowed to focus on the six figures that emerged through the rain. As O'Neill would say: _showtime._

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Daniel fidgeted at Thellesan's side as the first wave of Jaffa was transported to the surface. Something was wrong. He glanced at the First Prime and then away as he met the dark, assessing gaze. Hands reached up to adjust a pack that wasn't there, brushed his right leg where his sidearm should have been strapped securely. He looked down at himself, taking in the bright white suede-like clothing clinging to his body. Out of uniform- Jack would kill him. No, not Jack, Jack lived in Washington. Mitchell. He had to get Mitchell away from the Hostans- they were going to bleed him, kill him.

The hum of the Asgard beams etched a frown onto his forehead. Why didn't they just beam him up? Lock onto his transponder signal… wait. He tried to blink his mind clear of the haze that fell across his thoughts all too frequently. Transponders. Specific frequencies. Waves. Something…

Thellesan was speaking. Daniel turned to him and tried to concentrate to bring the Goa'uld words into focus. The Jaffa had found the temple area clear of hostiles and were rounding up the few priests in evidence.

"Let me go," Daniel insisted. "This is what I do- first contact. Make friends with the natives." He set his chin firmly. "Don't hurt these people."

The First Prime turned to the communication device that hovered over the control panel in the transport room. "My Lord Ba'al?"

A line of interference swept across the Goa'uld's thin face displayed on the grey sphere. "Very well, Dr. Jackson. You may accompany Thellesan to the surface now that my Jaffa have secured the area."

Daniel nodded and moved to the center of the circular pattern inscribed on the floor in gold, the four waiting Jaffa and the First Prime moving to surround him.

"Thellesan." Ba'al's voice rang through the chamber and his eyes flashed in warning. "Let no harm come to my prize."

The First Prime circled one of Daniel's wrists with his long fingers and bowed his head towards his Master before depressing the jewel on his armband. White light rose around them and when it faded, Daniel lifted his head to the heavens to feel the cool rain splash against his face.

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Mitchell had started moving down the walkway towards the temple as soon as he received Teal'c's signal, leaving Reynolds to move his men into position to protect their retreat back to the Stargate. It had been a gamble, and Ba'al had obviously decided to bypass the town entirely and beam his Jaffa into the courtyard of the temple itself. How much of that had been Jackson's idea in the hope of keeping the Goa'uld away from the villagers was anybody's guess - after hearing about Daniel's sarcophagus-induced behavior Cam hadn't felt confident his teammate would be able to hold onto that much of his conscience, and doubted, even if he could, that Ba'al would be willing to leave the settlement alone.

The rain effectively drowned out his running footsteps on the hardened surface, but Cam slowed as he approached the open iron gate. He flung himself to one side and hurriedly grabbed the zat from his waist as a large figure passed across the opening at the end of the passage. Guttural voices speaking in Goa'uld barely registered through the downpour, but one cry cut cleanly through the storm.

"Wait! Please, just let me talk to them!"

Mitchell didn't know what he'd been expecting. Maybe that he'd sound like Darth Vader or Hannibal Lechter, but not that Daniel Jackson would sound exactly like… Daniel Jackson.

Vala squinted through the pouring rain while she retreated towards the steps of the spring house. She glanced at the door and noticed Sam perched inside the entrance, one eye on her equipment and one on movements of the Jaffa within the courtyard. Six Jaffa weren't a challenge to the SG teams assembled nearby, but they did not want to show their hand before they were sure of Daniel's location. So they huddled within their robes and gave ground, and Vala knew that she wasn't the only one grinding her teeth and suppressing every urge to set her weapon on full auto to tear the Jaffa apart.

Standing so close to her teammate she heard the muffled sound of Sam's indrawn breath before the familiar whine announced the second set of Asgard beams. Vala's eyes focused on the figure in white immediately. Even at this distance, with the armored Jaffa all around him, she knew it was Daniel. His shout came at the same time as Sam's radio announcement.

"This is Colonel Carter. SG-1-delta has arrived."

Daniel tried to shoulder past the Jaffa standing between him and the small group of white-robed shapes that had gathered near the stone building in the center of the garden area, but the hand clutched around his wrist tightened like a vise, holding him in place. He turned, angry, but the First Prime was immovable, pulling Daniel up against his chest with the pressure on his forearm.

"You will wait, Daniel," Thellesan growled, "or I will order all of their deaths, immediately."

Mitchell dodged out to glance through the open gate, and then ducked back against the wall before keying his own mike. "Do not engage, repeat, do not engage until Jackson has been acquired." Whispered acknowledgements slowly sounded as Mitchell watched one Jaffa attach himself to the archaeologist as the four new arrivals began to move straight for the temple.

Making sure his lowered hood covered his tattoo, Teal'c stepped forward with Colonel Ferretti at his side as if to greet the Jaffa warriors.

"You stupid son of a bitch!" Daniel's furious yell halted all movement and brought every eye to the violent struggle taking place between Jackson and the Jaffa beside him. He seemed to be trying to tear his arm from the Goa'uld warrior's grip, his face flushed with rage. "Go ahead! Kill them all!" he screamed into the Jaffa's face, "Eliminate any possibility of me getting the help I need to find this weapon! I'm sure Ba'al will be thrilled with your superior tactics."

Thellesan cut off any further tirade by striking Daniel hard across the face with one raised fist, knocking the scholar to the dirt a few feet away.

"Now! Go- go-go!" Mitchell hurled himself into the courtyard as he screamed the order, firing his zat repeatedly at the Jaffa closest to Jackson's still form. The rattle of P90 fire erupted behind him and the blast of a staff weapon surged across his peripheral vision as he pelted towards Jackson's location. Two Jaffa were down near his teammate, but, as he watched, Jackson fought to his feet and looked around uncertainly, blood washing down from his temple.

"Jackson! Stay down!" he yelled, taking cover for a moment behind an overturned cart as another staff blast exploded into the ground at his feet.

Teal'c didn't bother with the Taur'i weapons, but grasped the distracted Jaffa approaching him around the neck and twisted sharply, releasing the dead body into the next Jaffa's path in one fluid movement. Beside him he heard the steady blam-blam-blam of Ferretti's sidearm firing point blank into his opponent's belly as Teal'c knelt swiftly to retrieve the discarded staff weapon at his feet, flipped it, and discharged a ball of flame to bring down the third Jaffa. He turned to see their last opponent struggling against the colonel hand-to-hand, both grasping the staff weapon and fighting for footing on the wet pavement. Teal'c brought his own staff down neatly across the backs of the Jaffa's knees before swinging it back to crunch sickeningly against the back of his foe's head. He met Ferretti's eyes and both men flung off their red robes to fall into wet heaps behind them and hefted their P90s, easing slowly through the worsening downpour to aid their comrades.

Sam slapped her hand against the laptop's controls before racing out to Vala's side. The small woman had already sent one Jaffa to the ground, his body curled around the knife she'd planted deep within his pouch, blue blood seeping through his fingers. A second had caught her from behind, clamping her arms against her body and lifting her off her feet. Sam let her rifle fall back against her chest, pulled her sidearm from its holster and stepped to the Jaffa's side. The huge warrior stilled as he felt the cold barrel of the gun pressed hard against his temple, opening his arms to allow Vala to slip away. Sam smiled as his eyes drifted towards hers. "Dodge this," she muttered as she squeezed the trigger.

The staff weapon fire kept Mitchell ducking behind the cart only a couple of yards from where Daniel stood totally exposed to the battle going on around him. "Jackson- get down! Now!" He raised his head to try to spot his enemy, unwilling to fire blind in the melee, but fell back down into a crouch as a blast seared the top of the cart. "Dammit Jackson!"

A burst of automatic fire sent a scream ripping through the air from the general location of the hostile, and Mitchell peered out from behind the barrier to see a Jaffa stumbling into sight, staff weapon still clutched in one hand, bloody holes decorating his armored chest. Mitchell stood and watched as the Jaffa fell, arm outstretched, releasing one last spurt of flame as his hand and the Goa'uld weapon hit the ground. His eyes followed the path of the discharge automatically, staring, a cold fist clenching in his belly as the staff blast knocked Daniel backwards over the body of the fallen Jaffa, to lie still on the wet ground.

Jackson! The cry was lodged somewhere in Mitchell's throat.

"Daniel Jackson!"

"Daniel!"

Every other sound died away as Mitchell sprinted for his teammate, the time stretching out impossibly as he crossed those few yards. It seemed to be taking so long. Too long. Forever. Either the rain had suddenly stopped or Cam just didn't see it anymore – his eyes were fixed on that white figure lying there. Motionless.

Wait. Not motionless. One arm was reaching out, trying to clutch at something. Mitchell threw himself at the ground next to Daniel's legs, eyes drawn to the smoking wound on his left side, bloody flesh visible through the torn white fabric.

"Nonononono…" More of a moan than anything else, the sound slid from Daniel's mouth as he turned his head to the right, towards Mitchell. He coughed once, hard, and Cam placed one hand on his chest to steady him, but Daniel was still reaching, fingers searching through the grass.

"What – what do you need," Cam whispered, unable to tear his eyes away from his teammate's.

"Need… need… ah!"

Cam looked down, frowning to see Daniel's outstretched fingers just touching a blue stone set into the dead Jaffa's wristband. "Daniel?"

The blinding white light reflected from the startled faces of Teal'c, Sam, and Vala as they hurried closer. And when it faded, all that was left were trampled blossoms, and who could tell if their red petals had been colored by Daniel's blood.


	32. Chapter 33

**A/N: Again, I apologize for drawing this out, but these chapters were very difficult to write. I hope you enjoy them, and I hope you'll let me know you're still with me.**

Chapter Thirty-two

"What the hell…" Mitchell blinked the water out of his eyes and crouched, zat ready in his hand as the mothership's control room came into focus around him. He'd fired at the two Jaffa just beginning to turn towards them from their positions flanking the central console before realizing he'd made that decision. The clatter of the enemies' staff weapons as they hit the metal deck sounded too loud and he winced, moving to sweep the room's shadowed recesses to make sure he and Daniel were alone. He sighed and turned back towards his teammate. Well, alone except for the body of the dead First Prime that had apparently fallen within the target area of the transport beams. Mitchell waited, listening for the telltale sounds of booted feet that would let him know that their sudden arrival on Ba'al's ship did not go unnoticed. Harsh gasps and choking coughs brought his attention back to Daniel and Cam shook his head as he watched the archaeologist bent almost in half, huddled across the dead body lying beneath him.

"Jackson." He leaned down, one hand reaching out to steady his teammate's shaking body before he realized the choking sounds that gurgled from Daniel Jackson's throat were not sobs but laughter.

Daniel felt the searing pain of the staff blast stab through his side with every movement, but he couldn't hold back his dark glee at the sheer irony of his position. He'd fallen across Thellesan's cooling body, dark red blood spattering against the First Prime's empty expression everywhere Daniel's breath huffed out in sharp, ragged pants. "Stupid… arrogant… bastard…" he gasped. "How does it taste now?" he spit a mouthful of blood at the unseeing eyes that were already glazing over in death.

He felt the hand on his shoulder and looked up into Mitchell's shocked face, the officer's reaction slipping beyond his immediate control. "Help me up," Daniel insisted, one hand tearing the metal cuff that held the crystal control for the beaming technology from the Jaffa's wrist.

Mitchell was surprised by the amount of force he needed to use to keep his teammate horizontal. "Jackson, what the hell are you doing? We need to head back to the surface."

"No," Daniel ground out between clenched teeth, his fingers scrabbling for purchase against Mitchell's sleeve. "Need to get to…" he closed his mouth over the words, eyes narrowing at his teammate's suddenly guarded expression. _No. Don't tell him about the sarcophagus. He'd stop him, keep him away._ "My notes, translations. Need them to find the weapon," he gasped while his mind clung to the image of the open arms of the Goa'uld machine waiting silently, the unnatural white glow of it warm and inviting beside the useless piles of books and papers.

"This place is bound to be crawling with Jaffa! We need back up…"

He shook his head. "It isn't," Daniel hissed angrily, grabbing onto the officer's arm with enough force to cause Mitchell to wince. "The clone slipped away with only a minimal complement of Jaffa, and he's sent most of those to the surface. That's why he felt it was safe to beam me down – there were more soldiers to control me there than were left up here." He panted, trying to draw in enough air to fuel his argument. He had to convince Mitchell, had to keep him from retreating. "C'mon," Daniel pulled himself to his knees, knowing he had to keep Mitchell moving, "I can make it."

"Bullshit – you can barely stay conscious!"

"Hand me that staff weapon," Daniel insisted, "I can use it to," he swallowed another spurt of hysterical laughter that threatened to gush out, "to balance… walk."

Cam frowned. Dammit. Merlin's weapon had already cost them so much. "I'll go – just give me directions. If it's so safe, you can wait for me here."

Daniel closed his eyes to mask his frustration. "You'll never find it." He allowed a chuckle to escape, his feverishly bright eyes snapping open again. "All the corridors on these damned ha'tak look the same."

"Just tell me how to get there. You need to get back to the surface," Mitchell snapped, trying to force the determined man back to the floor. "You won't make it ten steps, Jackson." He had to get him to safety, to medical help. Even if Ba'al sent another troop of Jaffa to the planet, Carter and the others could take Jackson back through the wormhole to Earth. With the frequency dampener Sam had initiated still in place, the Goa'uld wouldn't be able to pinpoint his transponder signal with transporter beams once the archaeologist was on the surface.

Daniel snatched at the fabric of Mitchell's shirt, pulling his face close. "Don't tell me what I can't do," he seethed, anger pulsing through him in time with his racing heartbeat. "You have no idea what I'm capable of." _Blind, military idiot. They never learned. They couldn't respect anyone who didn't have stars or birds or some other metal crap on their shoulders. Every last one of them still thought he was a light-weight, even after he'd saved their asses so many times he'd lost count._

Cameron Mitchell froze, staring into the blood-shot blue eyes only inches from his. "Yeah. That's a real compelling argument right about now," he jeered.

Rage fought against desperation within Daniel's battered body. _He needed… Had to get to… Why couldn't they just leave him alone?_ "Mitchell, please," he paused, trying to force his voice to a normal tone through the pain and anger and despair. "I have to do this."

Cam's mind reeled. They couldn't stay here – Ba'al had to have some kind of sensor rigged to the beaming technology. He'd never allow someone to board his vessel without checking it out, even if he'd only kept a few Jaffa on the ship for back up - the Jaffa that had been stationed in the room were probably already overdue to report in. "Jackson." He drawled the name out, fighting to see past his need to protect his teammate, his friend, to get him back to a nice warm bed in the infirmary where they could strap him down and wait out the withdrawal, rather than seeing the bigger picture – the threat that sent them all through the wormhole and into danger again and again, knowing each trip could be the last. The same damn balancing act that he'd seen in the briefing room at the SGC and on O'Neill's face in the commissary. The Mission versus the Individual. "Maybe we don't need your stuff – maybe we can find this weapon without it, I mean, this planet isn't that big," he tried.

"You don't understand," Daniel whimpered, the trembling of his limbs threatening to shake away his fury and dissolve his determination into out and out begging. He slumped against Mitchell's crouching body. "Please," he let his eyes close for a moment, "let me do this."

"You're sure," Mitchell ground out between his teeth, "'cause we have got to move here."

The injured man's eyes popped open and he nodded briskly. "Yes, yes, we need them." He shifted his weight and Mitchell hauled on his left arm, grabbing the archaeologist around the shoulders to steady him when he wavered. He led Jackson towards the door, stopping only to crouch and gather up one of the Jaffa's staff weapons and hand it to him.

Daniel ducked his head to hide the grin that teased at his mouth as his right hand closed around the staff. He leaned his unhurt left side against the wall just inside the doorway, balancing himself quickly as Mitchell reluctantly let go and eased himself into the hallway, checking each way for any sign of approaching troops. Taking his eyes from Mitchell's back, Daniel swung the muzzle of the weapon back into the room and tried to steady his aim, lips pulled back in a toothyl smile.

The sound of the Goa'uld weapon's blast spun Mitchell on his heels, zat primed and ready. His eyes widened as he watched the smoke rise from the blackened stump of what had been the neck of Ba'al's First Prime – the smell of the charred flesh hit the back of his throat almost immediately after. He shifted his focus, and his aim, to the man huddled in the doorway. "Jackson, what the hell?"

Thumbing the safety on the shaft of the weapon and listening for the distinctive click as the muzzle closed, Daniel grounded the end of the staff on the metal floor and leaned against it with both hands. He looked up and let his gaze rest casually on Mitchell's pointed zat before raising his eyes to his teammate's face. "What can I say," Daniel grinned. "The guy really needed to stay dead."

Mitchell stood silently, trying to figure out just which Daniel Jackson was standing there in front of him – the self-sacrificing perpetual victim who constantly put himself at risk for the greater good, or the stubborn sarcastic genius who fought everyone and everything to make sure his ideas were heard. Probably neither, he reasoned as he slowly lowered his weapon. This guy, this brittle, wounded, unstable addict was someone Mitchell had never met before. And he couldn't trust him at his back.

"You done now?" he asked calmly, forcing his thoughts about Dr. Daniel Jackson down new pathways, pathways with labels like 'reckless' and 'treacherous' and even 'enemy.'

"Yeah," Daniel panted, adjusting his grip on his improvised crutch. He started off down the corridor. "It's this way."

Keeping his zat half-raised at his teammate's back, Mitchell followed warily.

Ba'al slammed one fist down on the arm of his throne-like chair on the peltac of his ship. Someone had beamed back from the planet's surface – the controls clearly showed that the beam had activated only a few minutes after Daniel Jackson had been taken to the planet by the last group of Jaffa. His fingers stabbed at the buttons and he fixed his gaze on the viewscreen as the image wavered, the control room slowly coming into focus before his eyes. "Jaffa- kree!" He sent two of his remaining soldiers to investigate the bodies that littered the floor with a thrust of his head, and gestured the two remaining guards to his side as he strode from the room. He felt a rush of resentment at the impudence of the human – his eyes flashed in white-hot anger. The Taur'i was behind this - he'd somehow slipped from his First Prime's grasp and had managed to re-board the ship. Luckily, Ba'al knew just exactly where the scholar heading.

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"SG-1 to SG-3-niner, come in." Sam watched as Teal'c and Vala ushered the few surviving Jaffa through the heavy doors of the Hostan temple. The rain continued to fall, muffling the raised voices of friend and enemy and dangerously reducing visibility. Her eyes swept the area, her weapon following in a slow arc that covered this half of the temple garden. Feretti and SG-2 were conducting one last sweep of the other side, making sure no additional troops had beamed down since Daniel and Mitchell had disappeared.

"Reynolds here – still no movement in the village. What's your sit rep, Carter?"

Sam punched the button on her radio with more force than necessary. "The area is secure, prisoners confined within the temple." She felt her jaw muscles jump with tension. "Mitchell and Daniel were beamed aboard Ba'al's ship approximately fifteen minutes ago. No communication since then."

SG-3's leader's hesitation before replying wasn't unexpected. Sam could imagine the invective the officer was currently hurling into the air around him, she only wished she could let go and release some of her own frustration that same way, but Jacob Carter didn't allow swearing in his house. At least not by his daughter.

"So, if I've got this straight," Col. Reynolds' voice came through thin and coldly controlled, "we lost Jackson, then we found Jackson, then we lost Mitchell _and_ Jackson. And if Ba'al decides to leave orbit, we've got no shot whatsoever of tracking them."

Sam felt her fear for her teammates give fuel to her resentment of the implied reproach and she felt her lips twist open to disgorge some of her own seething fury, Jacob Carter be-damned.

"SG-17-niner to all SG teams." Major Janks' signal snapped Sam's jaw closed on her response. "Repeat SG-17-niner to all SG teams. Stargate Command advises Odyssey is within the system, repeat, Odyssey is within the system. ETA to orbit twenty minutes."

Finally, one thing was going right, Sam thought, a seed of relief looking for a place to take root in her mind. Emerson must have burned through a set of drive crystals to get here ahead of schedule.

"Well, tell 'em to kick in the afterburners," she heard the same trace of hope in Reynolds' sharp retort, "we need those Asgard beams."

"Samantha!"

Vala's breathless yell turned Carter around to see the slight woman hurrying towards her, Teal'c advancing stolidly at her side. In one hand Vala waved something circular and metallic.

"SG-2 has secured the prisoners, Colonel Carter." Even Teal'c's usually stoic façade was showing signs of wear and tear. "I was able to… convince… a Jaffa to hand over this device before he was able to activate it." Sam didn't waste any sympathy for the probably maimed Jaffa as she realized what Vala was holding. She caught Teal'c's eye, and then Vala's, and the three retreated towards the spot where Daniel's blood still stained the pale flowers of the Hostan garden.

"SG-1 to all SG teams – be advised SG-1 is proceeding to Ba'al's ship to acquire Col. Mitchell and Dr. Jackson. Col. Reynolds, you are in command." Her quick stride was the reason for the quivering in her voice, she decided firmly. "Major Janks – contact Odyssey and tell them they are clear to beam all members of SG-1 directly to his vessel when they are in range."

They stood pressed together, back to back, heavy boots crushing the blossoms into the dark mud of the soil, weapons raised, Vala's thumb poised over the crystal.

"SG-3-niner, acknowledged. Go get 'em, SG-1."

Sam nodded and Vala stabbed the control.

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"This is it," Daniel clutched the staff weapon tightly and threw himself towards the doorway; the closer he'd come to his goal, the faster he'd driven his wounded body, almost as if proximity to the sarcophagus magnified its attraction. Single-minded, he wasn't immediately aware of just what had stopped his forward momentum and he panted heavily, the skin of his forehead gathered into tight lines as he struggled against the unknown force that kept him from his purpose – his only purpose – the purpose that had come to overwhelm his senses and engulf his mind. He was drowning in it, stubbornly submerging himself in the sensations, using them to block other, more painful, more raw disappointments that threatened to break his heart. This was familiar – it had worked before when his failures had consumed him. His vision swam and he angrily blinked the sweat from his stinging eyes, a muffled whine escaping from between his clenched teeth. Something held him – something… A face drifted into and out of focus, familiar, anger mirroring his own. Holding him back, warning him, telling him to wait. It wasn't… it wasn't right. The eyes… the eyes were different.

"Jackson – stay with me!" Mitchell clutched at the soft white jacket, trying to make a connection with his teammate, shaking the wounded man's shoulders to try to rouse him from his daze. Daniel had moved more quickly through the abandoned corridors of the ha'tak than he'd expected, but Cam's worry had grown with each step. The usually brilliant blue eyes grew clouded – whether with pain or something else, he didn't know – and seemed to look right through him, focusing not on the world around him but on what Mitchell imagined was the siren song of the Goa'uld sarcophagus. _This was a bad idea._ The pitiful noises now mewling from the archaeologist's throat tore at his heart, but Cam steeled himself to procedure, to military protocol, thankful to have that regulation distance to call upon to put up a wall between his compassion and the mounting threat even if he had to draw deep into his reserves to find it. Command required it – but the closeness of SG-1, the family feel of this unique combination of individuals - had eroded his ability to hold himself stiff and reserved. "Let me check it out – we can't just rush in there."

_Need to… I need to…_ Daniel locked his hands onto the strong arms that fixed him in place, uncaring, deliberately keeping him from his healing, his oblivion. Strong arms holding him, strapping him down. "Get away from me," he shouted, muscles trembling with memory and fatigue. "Are you trying to kill me, Jack?"

Light eyes widened, but the fingers clamped in the fabric at his chest only tightened fiercely. "Jackson!" He felt himself spun on his heels, his back slamming painfully into the wall, side erupting in new searing heat. Daniel's head fell forward and he fought the darkness. The hard muscles pressed all along his length kept him from falling.

"Daniel – come on," the voice that whispered in his ear was harsh, guttural. Filled with… not anger. Something else. He tilted his head back until he could see the worried face before him.

"Mitchell?"

Relief drained some of the tension from Cam's muscles and he struggled hurriedly to keep the archaeologist upright against the golden bulkhead. "Yeah, it's me." He watched a semblance of awareness come back into Daniel's eyes. "You know where we are?"

Daniel felt hopelessness rise within him as his eyes took in the angled walls and familiar flickering light. "Ba'al's ship," he murmured, suddenly indifferent to the tears that crept down his flushed cheeks, tracing lines of ice across his too sensitive skin. "I'm sorry." He wasn't strong enough, he'd never been strong enough, and now he'd drawn Mitchell down with him, just has he had Jack and Sam and Teal'c all those years ago. "I'm sorry."

_Yeah, I knew this was a mistake,_ Mitchell told himself. Was whatever Jackson was trying to get to behind that door worth this, this disintegration of one of the strongest men he'd ever met even if it ended up freeing the entire galaxy from the Ori? He should have just returned them to the surface, Ancient knowledge be-damned. "It's okay." He waited until Jackson braced himself against the wall and then let go. "My command, my decision." Ignoring the tears still wet on his teammate's face he nodded towards the door. "We're here now – just let me check this out."

A subtle shift of weight drew Mitchell's attention back to his teammate. "I can back you up," Daniel offered, trying to swallow the breadth of emotions that rushed through him, seizing him and shaking him like a dog with a bone. The military had no sympathy for weakness. Kek – death – weakness. Warriors were warriors, no matter the species – and the pity he'd seen in their eyes - for him and everyone like him – would never change. Weakness was not tolerated. He had to go in there, to be strong. And he had to convince Mitchell to let him. "I can do this."

Cam shook his head. "No. Stay here – watch my six. I'll get your notes." As much as he wanted to keep Jackson with him, to watch him, he knew he had to keep him out of that room.

"No!" Daniel bit back the desperation. "No," he forced his voice to gentleness. "Please."

"Follow orders for once, Jackson," Mitchell ground out, pulling in every ounce of control to make it a command. He pushed away from his teammate and examined the frame around the door, listening for any movement behind him as he searched for the glyph that served as the door's control mechanism. Finding Ba'al's symbol among the figures he flipped the switch, dropping into a crouch against the left wall, ready to fire at anything that moved as the door rose.

The bright light over the worktable set against the far right wall illuminated Jackson's tools – books, journals, papers strewn in supposed chaos. Nothing moved – no fluttering of thin sheets of parchment, no stray reflections gave evidence of hidden enemies and Mitchell held himself still for a five-count, sending up a quick prayer of thanks. Jackson hadn't been lying – there really was research here, information on the weapon they'd been searching for. Flicking his glance back towards his teammate, a small smile and witty comment ready on his lips, the pale, hooded gaze of the archaeologist stopped his breath and sent his stomach into freefall. _Okay, clearly not out of the woods yet._

Daniel was steadying himself against the wall behind Cam with his left hand, holding the Goa'uld staff weapon in his right, the barrel hovering behind Mitchell's shoulder just opening with a sinister snick. SG-1's leader didn't hesitate, but sensed the heat on the side of his face and smelled the acrid aroma of singed hair as the weapon discharged. He lunged for the open doorway, throwing himself prone on the floor as far from his teammate as he could, hurling himself to his back to grab his zat with both hands and aim back along his body. What the hell? Jackson had him point blank – why wasn't he dead?

The archaeologist was framed in the open doorway, making no attempt to hide from the zat pointed in his direction, intent stare and energy weapon aimed down the hallway to Mitchell's left. The Air Force officer watched as Daniel sent another staff blast down the corridor before the wounded man awkwardly ducked a blue bolt of energy and dived into the room, landing with a harsh grunt at his side.

"Jaffa," he wheezed, hand clutched to his wounded side, his eyes closed.

Mitchell scrambled to his feet, lips tightened in guilt for his momentary loss of faith in his teammate. He barely registered the sound of booted feet approaching their position as he searched the side of the doorway for the subtly raised switch. Flicking it with one hand, he fell to the floor and sent wave after wave of zat fire in the direction of the unseen enemies as the door rumbled closed. He fired one more shot at the door activation switch before rising to a crouch, hands braced against his thighs. "Sorry about that, Jackson," he began, feeling his heartbeat steadying. "That should buy us some time – hopefully until we get some back up." He'd have to check his teammate's wound, make sure Jackson's desperate leap into the room hadn't made it worse.

A soft gasp brought his head around quickly. Jackson was pushing himself to his feet, bracing himself with the staff weapon again, but his eyes were wide open, the black of his pupils swallowing any trace of blue as he stared. Fragments of feelings danced across his face in winces and frowns until his expression settled into one of bleak futility and despair. With a deep sigh Daniel Jackson smiled and closed his eyes, as if in acceptance or surrender.

Cameron Mitchell rose, a fist of fear clenching in his gut, and, knowing what he would find there, turned to look at a Goa'uld sarcophagus for the first time.


	33. Chapter 34

Chapter Thirty-Three

Keeping his movements smooth and slow, Cam walked to the machine, placing himself between it and his teammate, searching the ornate gold exterior for any sign of its inherent evil. He knew what this thing could do to save a human life, to bring someone back from the dead, to heal fatal wounds or extend the life of a Goa'uld and its host. He knew its role in the breakdown of morality, of its fertilization of the seeds of evil in every symbiote, of its power to bleed away the soul of a good man. But nothing of that showed on its surface – no, it looked like something from a museum display, something to be studied and catalogued in a university collection. He set his zat down on the closed top and rested his hands against the cool metal for a moment, listening to the ragged breathing of the man at his back.

"So, this is it." Cameron spoke casually, understanding in that moment that the fight to retrieve his teammate had just begun. And here he was, the new guy, the one with the most tenuous connection to the complicated soul of Daniel Jackson, standing between the man and his Achilles' heel. "It's smaller than I would have thought," he observed.

When Daniel didn't respond he turned to face the archaeologist, leaning back against the sarcophagus, his arms crossed across his chest. "Pretty cool."

Daniel's brows curved upward in confusion. "What?" he breathed.

"This thing," Mitchell banged one hand on the side of the metal coffin before resuming his stance, startling a grunt of alarm from the man opposite him. "Raises the dead, huh? I think that's pretty cool, don't you?"

The scholar's head shook quickly from side to side and Mitchell watched his throat swallowing convulsively, the linguist unable to form words.

"Healed Colonel O'Neill's little pouch so he wouldn't need a symbiote. And your wife, Sha're, brought her back?"

At that name blood suffused Daniel's face and he took one step forward, teeth clenched, the tip of the staff weapon lining up with the very center of Mitchell's chest. "Don't… don't-"

Cam raised his eyebrows in mock bewilderment. "Don't what – don't talk about your wife? Okay, I get that." He nodded once. "Sorry to bring up a painful subject."

Daniel blinked but the aim of his weapon never wavered.

"It's just that, I know I never met her or anything, but I wonder what she'd think of all this."

Two rasping coughs burst from Daniel's throat sounding more like barking laughter than anything else. He grinned, left hand waving in a jerky circle. "'All this'? _All this_?" Images of her sweet face surged through his memory. "All what, exactly? Ba'al? The Ori? The past ten years of my life?"

Mitchell shrugged.

"You don't… how could you…" Daniel choked off the desolation that rose within him. "She – Sha're," he swallowed, "my first mistake."

"What, marrying her?"

"No!" He tightened his sweaty grip on the staff weapon. "Get out of my way," Daniel grunted. Tired. He was so tired. "I'm not going to explain myself to you."

Mitchell took a step forward, releasing his arms from where he'd kept them clasped over his heart. "You'd better damn well explain how you've decided to give up everything you've worked for, everything you've dedicated to her memory over these past ten years just to get high."

Daniel reached for the memory of his wife's smile, of his temptation to leave it all behind when they'd brought back the empty shell of her body, her chest blackened from the fire of Teal'c's staff, the lingering memory of her challenge for him to go on, to continue his fight. But the emptiness within him consumed it all. And this… this poor excuse for his best friend stood there and mocked him. "Just get out of my way," he begged.

"I can't do that," Cam answered softly. "And you don't really want me to."

"Oh, I do, I really, really do," Daniel insisted. "I need this. I _want_ this."

"Oh, no you don't," Mitchell angrily flung out at the other man. "Daniel Jackson, irrepressible good-guy…"

"Stop." The word was barely a whisper.

"… and official conscience of the SGC…"

Daniel's eyes closed in anguish. "Stop."

"… formerly Ascended being who convinced a higher power that humanity deserved some help against Anubis…"

"_Please, stop." _No. He had to make him stop. He felt the tears tickling his eyelashes.

"…had Morgan Le Fay eating out of the palm of his hand…"

"**STOP!"**

The staff blast punched a hole in the wall behind him and Mitchell flinched back against the sarcophagus. Jackson was shaking, his face had turned a mottled grey and his skin looked sick and lifeless against the bright white of his garments. Cam closed his suddenly dry mouth. Silence hung in the room for long minutes, but Mitchell was determined to wait his teammate out this time.

"I'm not him." The blue eyes that opened to capture Cameron's gaze were dry, filled with a profound air of acceptance. "I've changed." Daniel shrugged one shoulder, attempting indifference but coming far, _far_ from it.

"Jackson…" an automatic contradiction sprang to mind, but the chill that ran up Mitchell's spine at the familiarity of Jackson's calm words stopped him from verbalizing it. And it wasn't just the words – the expression of loss on Daniel Jackson's face reached inside him and was echoed in a memory. He saw the archaeologist's face as if through a veil, tightly closed blue eyes opening onto a face devoid of hope, acknowledging the same sentiment of change. A sense of closeness, of a warmth at his side flipped the remembrance into place and Mitchell realized he'd witnessed this scene through the glass of an observation room window with Carolyn beside him.

"_If you could Ascend again, you'd have access to all of the knowledge in the Universe, wouldn't you?" Dr. Forsner stated, eyes glimmering as he leaned towards the archaeologist. "You'd know where Merlin's weapon was, you'd know if the Ascended Ori could make good on their threats to subjugate this galaxy, and you might be able to figure out a way to effectively fight against them."_

"_Okay, clearly, you don't know as much about Ascended beings as you think you do," Daniel began._

_Forsner continued, undeterred. "But that's the problem, isn't it? You need an Ascended being's help to Ascend, and, over the past few years you know you've changed so much that you aren't likely to get that, are you?"_

He'd known it wasn't over, he'd said as much to General O'Neill after Jackson had fled the interrogation room. Jackson's reaction to those words had been terrible in its intensity. And the discussion in the briefing room about just how close Daniel had come to death at Forsner's hands – none of them had allowed the recently almost dead man finish his thought, but the emptiness of his eyes should have clued them in.

"We were all worried that you almost Ascended again…" the thought tumbled from Mitchell's lips.

"…while I knew – _I knew_ that wasn't the case at all," Daniel nodded, his voice telling Mitchell that he'd pondered this idea, thought about, wrapped his brilliant mind around it over and over again and he was done – finished. "Because of who I am now, of what I've become, I have no hope of any help from any Ascended being ever again."

Mitchell's eyes narrowed. "Just what exactly have you become, Jackson? What the hell was so different about you that made Oma Desala help you in the first place?"

Daniel's quiet response was almost masked by the shrill whine of a transport beam as the bright white light filled the space between them. "Truth of spirit."

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Chilled by more than the cold rain Vala stabbed at the crystal on the armband again with the same result. She felt the muscles in the Jaffa's back shift behind her in impatience. "It's not working!"

Carter turned, her tired face grim. "Ba'al must have initiated a transport block to keep anyone else from using one of these to access his ship."

"But that would effectively trap his Jaffa on the planet."

Teal'c tilted his head, dark eyes meeting Vala's. "Ba'al would have no difficulty leaving his warriors to die against a greater foe." He turned to other woman. "Can you penetrate this block Colonel Carter?"

Sam was already running towards the equipment she'd left in the Hostan's spring house where she'd set up the dampening field that masked energy readings from the surface, ensuring that Ba'al didn't detect the presence of the SG teams as they waited. She shook the rain from her face – she could shut down the damper and hopefully punch through Ba'al's transport block at the same time. "Radio Reynolds!" she shouted over her shoulder.

Vala adjusted her boonie to try to keep the rain out of her eyes. Every minute that Daniel was on that ship raised the odds against them ever getting him back – she felt it. After Teal'c had finished his terse conversation with the leader of SG-3 she linked one arm around his waist as far as it would go and leaned her face into the large Jaffa's chest.

"All will be well, Vala Mal Doran," the gentle voice soothed her fraying nerves.

"He'd better be," she sniffled against Teal'c's sodden black t-shirt.

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_Finally_, Mitchell thought as he heard the beams engage. It was about time the rest of the team found a way to follow them up to the ship. He reached for the zat he'd left on the closed lid of the sarcophagus, happy to forego the psychology, zat Jackson and have Teal'c carry him out. Cam turned to bring the weapon to bear when he realized there was only a single figure standing between him and his teammate – a thin, bearded figure with one glowing metal-clad hand raised towards him. He fired twice in rapid succession.

Blue sparks enveloped the Goa'uld, crawling over his skin, but the smile merely twisted wider as Ba'al pointed the hand device at Mitchell's chest. A momentary confusion clouded his features as he took in Mitchell's homespun clothes and then looked much closer at his face. "Well, if it isn't Colonel Mitchell. I see SG-1 has new uniforms," he sneered.

"Yeah, well, you're not looking all that hearty yourself. I keep telling people that monkey chow diet is not good for you." Ba'al's frown and the way the jewel on the hand device brightened told Mitchell his insult had been received and he retreated to stand braced against the sarcophagus again.

"Don't hurt him." The whispered phrase held more of a command than Mitchell had expected and he saw his surprise mirrored in the Goa'uld's eyes a second before Ba'al stepped back so that he could face both humans. Jackson was still trembling, his shoulders hunched, barely holding himself together, the staff weapon wavering and swaying alarmingly in his grip. Mitchell kept his face carefully blank as he watched Ba'al lower his hand, the light in the hand device blinking off.

"Very well- this Taur'i and his zat are no threat to me," Ba'al shrugged.

"Nifty trick – new shield technology?" Mitchell asked.

Ba'al's smile was feral. "A simple re-engineering of my genetic code, colonel."

"Oh," Mitchell observed sardonically, "you're an experimental model, huh? Haven't quite got all the bugs worked out yet?"

All traces of humor left the Goa'uld's face and he turned to look at the wounded man shifting nervously at his left. "My dear Daniel, I find that I've underestimated you yet again. Were you about to shoot the colonel? Please," Ba'al gestured politely, "don't let me interrupt."

Daniel's stare stayed affixed to the gold sarcophagus.

"Please," Ba'al insisted, "after all, you've gotten so good at it over the years, haven't you?"

Mitchell shifted his attention between the two, not sure where the next threat would come from, and saw the impact of Ba'al's words on his teammate. Daniel's breath hitched and his left arm clutched at his wounded side.

"A weapon fits as well within your grip as a spade or a book, doesn't it?" The Goa'uld's words were clipped and precise. "And you've learned the importance of shooting first without bothering to ask many questions. How many deaths have you been responsible for?"

"Hey!" Mitchell's shout was loud enough to break whatever chain of thought Ba'al's words had started in Daniel's mind and the clouded blue gaze rose to study the leader of SG-1, unfortunately bringing the tip of the staff weapon with it. "Don't listen to that crap, Jackson. We've all done what we've had to do. You can't let this bad-boy-wannabe play with your mind."

"Oh, believe me, I'm not playing," the Goa'uld laughed quietly.

"Oh, come on – does anybody really talk like that?" Mitchell couldn't help switching his focus momentarily to the arrogant ex-System Lord. He was rewarded when he looked back to find Daniel blinking rapidly in confusion. Huh- that was a step in the right direction.

"I've killed…" Daniel stopped, brows furrowed.

"Indeed you have," Ba'al agreed readily, "in fact, you've just killed my First Prime – again."

Mitchell watched an unholy delight begin to rise behind Daniel's eyes. "Sounds like a guy who couldn't deserve it more," the colonel remarked quickly, trying to stay a part of the conversation.

Daniel's fleeting smile was flat. "Khalek warned me. Told me I'd feel the joy of killing."

Khalek? The 'demon spawn of Anubis?' Mitchell shook his head – Jackson was all over the place, how could he convince him of anything if he couldn't follow the genius's leaps of thought?

Ba'al's eyes were filled with triumph. "And you did."

"Thellesan won't be back. Not this time."

"Nor will Lis'qan," Ba'al added.

"No." A trace of sadness accompanied that one word, making the wounded man in front of him resemble Daniel Jackson again.

Wait – hold it. Cameron thought back to what Daniel had said just before Ba'al made his appearance. "This is about what you said before, isn't it?" Cam realized. "That 'truth of spirit' stuff."

"Ah, yes," the Goa'uld nodded, pursing his lips. "The Ancient requirement for intervention in a human's affairs, the spark within the soul that connects a lower being with the higher planes.

The sadness grew in Daniel's eyes.

"Jackson – _Daniel_ – " Cam had to get through to him, had to try to snap him out of this fugue that would lead him back to the sarcophagus and away from himself. Dammit. His fists clenched at his sides. If O'Neill were here, he'd know the right things to say, he'd kept Jackson from the pit before, pulled him back from the edge, convinced him he was needed. " – you can't listen to this guy!"

Daniel Jackson pulled himself straight, visibly wincing at the searing pain from the wound in his side. His smile gentled as his eyes met Mitchell's concerned gaze across the expanse of the room. "I'm sorry," he stated clearly, some of the familiar sincerity ringing in his voice.

"Oh, you're sorry, well that's just great." Mitchell's frustration was replaced with anger. Rage filled him, stripping him of any persuasive speech or compelling arguments and leaving him with only the truth. "Yeah, I'm sorry, too," he snapped. "Sorry that you think so damn highly of yourself that you just can't stomach that you're acting like one of us now, one of us feeble, flawed humans." He jabbed one finger at the startled man. "You've always had this huge chip on your shoulder, you know? The whole 'I'm connected with the angels' thing," his arms waved dramatically. "Smirking, thinking you knew better than everybody else – O'Neill was right about you."

"What – Jack?" Daniel stumbled forward as if a prop had been taken away from him.

"He said you couldn't handle making mistakes, that you always had to be right." Mitchell took a half step to the right so that he could keep Ba'al in sight as he directed his attention at his teammate, but the Goa'uld was standing rigidly, gaze flicking back and forth between the humans, transfixed. "And now, since you think you've been thrown out of the glow-club for good because you've haven't beaten yourself up enough for the decisions you've made, decisions that have saved people's lives, you're ready to crawl back inside this thing and let it destroy you!"

"I've already been destroyed!" The words burst from Daniel's throat, the overpowering emotion surprising even himself. "Everything that I was…" he pulled back, taking a few shallow breaths to steady himself, "everything I believed about myself…"

"You've changed," Ba'al added.

Mitchell watched Jackson's head nod in agreement. "Yeah? So, you're not as pure as the driven snow as you thought you were. You're suddenly not better than the rest of us. Get over it," he snapped.

Daniel swung the staff weapon towards Mitchell and tried to steady it with two shaking hands. "Get out of my way."

Crossing his arms and shrugging, Mitchell stood his ground. "No."

"Do you think I won't do this?"

Cam saw the longing in his teammate's eyes, the hopelessness, and knew he hadn't reached him. If Daniel succeeded in killing him it just might be the last step over the edge. His throat was dry, his stomach clenched in fear – not for himself, but for the man who stood in front of him. A truly good man – Mitchell could not believe otherwise, no matter what he'd said. "Do you want to kill me?" he whispered.

"I…" Daniel shuddered. He'd heard those words before. He closed his eyes against the tremors that cascaded through his body.

"_Are you trying to kill me?"_

_The dark, musty confines of the base storage room. Warm steel clutched in his sweaty hand. A soul-wrenching sorrow and humiliation that turned his thoughts to wounded animal cries. The face of a friend calling him back. Arms that reached out…_

A raw keening sound began to build within him as he let the tears he'd held back for so long stream down his face. A strange but too familiar whine sounded to his right and his hands clenched on the alien weapon in his hands. Daniel's eyes flew open and he fired.

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"Odyssey to SG-1-niner, come in please." Col. Paul Emerson sat hunched in the command chair of the X-304, clenching and unclenching one fist. The acrid smell of fused circuits and a haze of smoke hung in the air of the bridge, tokens of the battering his ship had taken on their long sprint to the Hostan world. They'd pushed all the systems too hard, but every hand on board had understood the necessity and kept her running – it was almost as if the Odyssey was holding herself together until they reached SG-1 and Daniel Jackson. "This is Emerson – any SG team, please respond."

"I've got no transponder signals from the surface, sir," Marks commented sharply from his seat to the commander's right.

"They could be –" Whatever Emerson had been about to say was abruptly cut off by the crackling of the radio.

"This is SG-3-niner, Odyssey," Col. Reynolds voice echoed in the control room, "be advised Colonel Mitchell and Daniel Jackson are aboard Ba'al's mothership in orbit. Get them the hell out of there, repeat, beam them off with all possible speed!"

Marks' fingers flew over the controls. "Ba'al's ship is orbiting over the northern pole, out of range, sir."

"Get us in there, Major," Emerson snapped. Punching a control he raised his voice. "Roger that, SG-3. Moving to intercept. ETA…" he looked at his second-in-command.

"Three minutes, sir."

"ETA three minutes. Do you need any help on the surface? I've got four teams ready to beam down."

"Negative Odyssey, everything's under control. We just need our people back."

"Roger. Will advise when retrieval is complete. Out." Emerson straightened. "Let's go get them."

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Mitchell's eyes widened as the smoke rose and the smell of burnt flesh filled the air.

The smile on Ba'al's face hovered for a moment before it was replaced by a shocked grimace. Turning, his suddenly glowing eyes settled on the shivering archaeologist. "You…"

Three more staff blasts in rapid succession turned the body of the Goa'uld to a lump of slag.

Cam had taken a few steps towards his teammate before the staff weapon swung back in his direction. "Jackson?" Daniel had fired on the Goa'uld before he could direct the beam of his ribbon device towards Mitchell. He thought it was all over, that Jackson had made his choice.

"Move." The word growled out from the wounded man's throat even as his tears continued to fall.

Defeat slumped Mitchell's shoulders. Jackson was lost – utterly focused on the sarcophagus – and now Cam was too far away from his discarded zat to stop him. He sighed and moved away from the gold colored coffin, Jackson following him with now unwavering aim. At least once the archaeologist was safely inside the thing Mitchell could retrieve his weapons and wait for back up, ready to manhandle his teammate back to Earth for treatment. "Go ahead," he muttered.

Tearing his eyes from the long gold box, Daniel dropped his chin and shook his head, a smile quirking up one corner of his mouth. Taking in the beaten expression on Mitchell's face he took a deep breath. "I really am sorry," he said.

"Whatever," Mitchell waved off the apology with one hand.

Daniel nodded once and then, with one motion, turned back to the sarcophagus and fired the staff weapon.

Mitchell's jaw dropped as Daniel fell to his knees, letting the staff clatter to the floor in front of him. He hurled himself towards his teammate and grabbed Jackson's shoulders, trying to steady the coughing, shuddering man. "Hey, hey, stay with me," he murmured, easing him to lie on the deck on his side. The archaeologist's eyes were tightly closed, his hair slicked against his skull, lips blue around the edges. "You did good, Jackson." He settled one hand against his teammate's wet cheek. "You did real good."

"… my… notes…" he breathed. "Don't… forget…"

Shaking his head, Cam felt the smile that widened on his own face. "Geez, Jackson, one track mind much?"

"Don't…" the blue eyes snapped open, "don't make this… meaningless…"

Smile forgotten, Mitchell squeezed Daniel's shoulder and hurried to the table, shoving papers, notes, and journals haphazardly into the field pack lying beneath it. He dropped next to the prone figure, holding up his prize and was rewarded by a flash of gratitude just as the Asgard beams caught them up.


	34. Chapter 34x

Chapter Thirty-Four

He seemed to feel the warm, bracing hands of his friends even as the wormhole tore his molecules apart and reassembled them on the Hostan world. They never left him. Had promised they wouldn't leave him. Jack's strong arm held him tightly around the shoulders, and, on the other side, Cam still gripped his arm. The quivering of his muscles had never really subsided, and he almost stumbled on the smooth walkway, but a large dark hand against his chest caught him, and Daniel raised his eyes to draw strength again from the serene face of his friend.

"Okay there?" Jack's voice was sharp, but Daniel knew it was from worry not from anger. Not this time. Jack had been stunningly patient this time.

"I'm fine," he sighed, tilting his chin up and blinking at the mild blue sky that retreated into the heavens. He was so tired of grey cement walls.

"I still think the wheelchair would be better." Dr. Carolyn Lam's words had been repeated many times as the group made its way from the infirmary to the metal ramp of the 'gate room. Daniel had risen to his feet and insisted that he walk through the Stargate under his own power, and no one really wanted to deny him this one moment of independence. Lam had the wheelchair sent through with them, and watched stone-faced as Vala slipped into the seat, smiling up flirtingly at the tall nurse who was pushing.

"Daniel?"

He turned to smile at the concerned blue eyes of Colonel/Doctor Carter where she waited next to Teal'c. "No, I can make it, Sam," he assured her. Trying to take a step forward he halted quickly. "Um, guys, you're going to have to ease up a little bit if you want me to walk."

"Just following orders," Mitchell teased as he relaxed his grip on the archaeologist's arm. The Air Force officer had never relinquished his role as chief babysitter for the duration of Daniel's incarceration in the bare isolation room. Even when he'd been at his worst.

"Yeah, I believe your exact words, Danny, were, 'Don't let go.'" Jack squeezed his friend's shoulders tightly. "An order I don't intend to ignore, for once."

Blinking rapidly, Daniel cursed the mood swings that still threatened his equilibrium and took a few hesitant steps, grateful to find that his friends had backed off, but not too much. Jack lowered his arm, but made sure their shoulders touched as they moved, and a few moments later, Mitchell followed suit. Daniel kept his eyes fixed on Teal'c's broad back as he led the odd group along the walkway towards the village. Sam, at his side, turned every other step to glance over her shoulder, assuring herself that her teammate was really there, and Vala's nonstop chattering from behind him was strangely comforting.

The two weeks he'd spent in the infirmary fighting withdrawal were, thankfully, mostly a blur, but some scenes came to his mind with sudden, humiliating clarity. He'd learned a few new languages to curse in since his last struggle against sarcophagus addiction, and added weight and muscle to his frame which resulted in bruised feelings and bruised bodies for his care-takers. Dr. Lam's right wrist was still wrapped from where he'd cruelly twisted it, and the look in Sam's eyes when he'd called her a – Daniel bit off that thought and tried to concentrate on the path in front of him.

They all knew it was far from over. After his behavior the last time, no one had been in a rush to believe that Daniel was healthy again, no matter what the readings on Carolyn's monitors indicated. Keeping food down, staying awake for more than an hour at a time, getting a tentative grip on his emotions were all signs of his recovery, but the depression that had settled on him a few days ago still showed little indication of ebbing. His smiles and assurances that he was 'fine' hadn't fooled anyone. The dark hole within him still yawned, promising release, oblivion.

It was during one of his more lucid moments that the presence of a stranger at his side had jarred him back into a kind of normalcy. Teal'c had brought an old man; long grey hair caught up in a leather thong and dressed in obviously home sewn garments, into his exile. He remembered a fleeting moment of rage against his friend for revealing his weakness to this stranger, but it had been quickly submerged by a spark of his usual curiosity, especially when the rest of SG-1, Lam, and General Landry had followed the two into the room where he and Jack had been sniping at each other for the past hour.

"Daniel Jackson," Teal'c had bowed, "this is Eneas. He is one of the Hostans who welcomed us to their world and has been of great assistance distributing aid to his people." When Daniel hadn't responded, he'd continued. "He has asked to speak with you."

Daniel remembered his confusion and irritation. "Why?"

Glancing at the large Jaffa for permission, the older man stepped forward. "You are the one who read the words of the Etavia – ah, the Ancients as you call them – and showed us the way."

He'd closed his eyes and banged his head back against the pillows, angry, frustrated, feelings of loss threatening to overwhelm him again until the warmth of a hand on his shoulder brought him back. Jack's brown eyes glittered in the low light of the isolation room.

"Hey, how about you relax and try to listen. Just listen," he'd added quickly when Daniel had opened his mouth to bite off a nasty reply.

"Fine," he'd growled, turning a decidedly too bright gaze at the old man. "Yes, I translated the words of your myth correctly so that you could stop draining the blood from your people. You're welcome."

Eneas didn't seem to take any offense at the spiteful statement that Daniel had spit out at him; the old man smiled gently and touched one finger lightly to the back of Daniel's hand where it lay twitching on the blanket. "We do thank you, Daniel Jackson. And, in return for the great service you have done for our people, we ask only that you allow us to now help you."

Sam had stepped to the end of Daniel's bed, one hand fluttering through the short blonde strands of her hair, and Daniel noticed that she, Teal'c, and Vala were still wearing black BDUs, as if they'd just stepped from the wormhole. "Daniel, when we were finishing up getting Ba'al's ha'tak ready for its trip to the Alpha Site with, we stopped in to see Eneas and the new ruling council. We told them about what happened – about the search for Merlin's weapon and about your… injury."

He remembered snorting in wry amusement at her choice of words. Injury. Funny. Just the thought of Ba'al's ha'tak had sent a thrill of longing through his nerves and he'd felt his breathing speed up. Another nudge from Jack's hand forced a grunt and he'd wrenched himself back under control. He'd nodded at Sam to continue.

"Eneas seems to think the water left by the Ancients to help their people through the Tegera can help you get through this withdrawal."

Daniel had felt his eyebrows rise. "What, and I get to trade addiction to the damned sarcophagus for addiction to this water? No thanks."

"Not at all," Eneas had replied calmly. "There have never been any unhealthy effects in all of our history from the wine of the Etavia. Even when young acolytes have consumed more than was strictly necessary," his eyes twinkled warmly, "the youths experienced no more than a deep sleep and recovered quite quickly. I myself," he touched his chest, "was removed from the cogni years ago and stopped drinking the water. As you see," he gestured widely as if to show off his good health.

"Sleep?" Daniel had clung to that one word. He remembered how tempting the idea had been. "I could sleep through the withdrawal?"

Dr. Lam's expression had been guarded. "Anything I give you here to sedate you that completely would have negative side effects, Dr. Jackson, that's why we never tried it before. Dr. Carter and I have run extensive tests on the spring on Hosta, and I am cautiously optimistic. I would stay to closely monitor your vitals while you undergo the treatment."

"As I said," Eneas had smiled. "Please, you have all done so much for us. Let us help in this small way."

Working out the kinks in the plan had taken a few days, days when Daniel's friends were surprised by his own indifference as they argued doggedly for this chance with both Landry and the IOA, emphasizing the ongoing search for any clue about the location of Merlin's weapon on the planet, and how the presence of a recovered Daniel Jackson might be just what they needed. They never realized that Daniel's uncaring attitude sprang from a sense of futility, a feeling that little mattered, and that, in the great scheme of things, his own contribution would likely be meaningless.

The strain of over-used muscles began to slow his steps as the group reached the central plaza of the village and Jack and Mitchell led him to a carved wooden chair that stood with its twin against the wall of a modest home. Daniel fell into it heavily and bowed his head into his hands, rubbing his fingers briskly through his hair, hiding his face from the curious looks of the villagers. Jack's hand on his neck rested there for only a moment and was removed before Daniel could shake it off in irritation. He was grateful when the group stepped away to give him some space to breathe and he squirmed at the feel of the rough fabric of the BDUs against the sensitive skin of his arms and legs. Every nerve seemed to register a complaint about something and he felt his temper kick in.

A solid bump against his right knee brought his head up and he blinked slowly into Vala's bright smiling eyes. She deliberately nudged him again, scooting the wheelchair back and forth with ease. "We should have brought two, then we could have races," she teased. He smiled back, honestly glad that some of her natural exuberance and quirkiness had returned. One of the worst things about his return to consciousness had been navigating the eggshell minefield that his friends were walking; he'd found his words and actions were the most violent, the most out of control when they were so intent on 'being nice' to him. One normal reaction, just one – he'd prayed for it for days until Jack had finally yelled at him to shut up and let them help him. Naturally, the way he'd burst into tears was one of Daniel's more lucid memories. Great.

"Too bad," he murmured.

"I _know_," she replied, eyes widening. "You should have told me about these little beauties weeks ago." She quickly shot in a circle around the plaza, weaving in and out, until Teal'c reached down and grabbed her with one hand. "Spoil sport," she muttered.

The laughter caught in Daniel's throat and he choked it down, reaching up to scratch cruelly at both arms, the noise of his calloused fingers against the fabric drowning out the quiet voices around him. Vala's face appeared again between his bent knees and he stopped.

"Come on, I'll give you a push," she offered.

"Yeah, the sooner we get you to this 'magic water' the better." Daniel saw the dark circles under Jack's eyes, the way the lines around his mouth had deepened into creases. He looked old. Still blaming all those grey hairs on him – Daniel realized the claim was probably true. He nodded, suddenly worried more about easing some of the heavy burdens his friends were carrying than about himself. For a change.

Vala and Sam helped him shift his weight and Carolyn gave him a quick exam before they set off for the temple area. Daniel hovered at the edge of awareness, lulled into somnolence by familiar voices and the slow movement of his chair over the stones of the walkway. Another sound tried to intrude, humming at the edge of his hearing, but it seemed the more he concentrated on it the more it receded, playing a game of hide and seek with his consciousness. His distraction made the journey to the temple seem short and soon Daniel was being pulled to his feet and ushered through the bound wooden doors into the dark, cool temple.

Eneas stood near a simple bed covered with deep cushions and surrounded by the SGC's strangely alien looking medical monitors. Lam and her nurse hurried over to prepare with dials and tubes, but something drew Daniel's eye past the ring of oddly constructed benches, to the stonework within the oval of the rushing water and he strained to take his own weight, stepping clumsily over the stone trough to stand in the center of the circle of water that they all had such faith in. He felt minute vibrations through his skin, and the humming noise grew stronger. Another step brought a small carving on the floor into focus and he crouched down to rub a careful finger over the worn figure. Simple. A few strokes in the stone that were meaningless to uneducated eyes, eyes that hadn't spent the past few years staring at symbols just like this. He let his head fall forward to his chest as he snorted in amusement.

"Daniel – "

"Okay, what now?"

"Daniel Jackson."

He looked up, eyes glistening. Daniel knew his twisted smile only worried the others, but he couldn't help himself. If they'd only let him go on the team's original mission, if he'd only seen the inside of the temple with his own eyes, how much of this could have been avoided? Mitchell's wounding, the deaths of the Jaffa on Bren-Nek-Mok, Vala's torture, Lis'qan's death, and his own renewed addiction to the damned Goa'uld Pandora's box – none of it had to happen, none of it. Three simple lines left on the floor of an Ancient temple to draw the right person's attention. Frustration and rage welled up and his brows furrowed. He gestured with one arm. "Jack, come here," he demanded sternly.

Jack O'Neill rolled his eyes dramatically. "Daniel." he repeated.

"Jack!"

"What?" the frustrated general shouted.

"Just-" Daniel ground his teeth together to keep from yelling, from cursing Morgan, the IOA, the Ancients, the military. "Humor me, just this once."

Eyes narrowing, Jack stepped over the short trough and grasped Daniel's shoulder as he muttered something about 'yeah, just this once, famous last words.' He swore lightly as his knees bent, slowly lowering himself to crouch next to Daniel. The archaeologist quickly grabbed Jack's hand and pressed the palm against the floor, centering it over the faded Ancient letter he'd found there.

The rumbling began immediately, knocking both men off their feet, and the sound that Daniel had been hearing since they'd left the village rose shrilly as a spear of stone began to lift from the floor in front of them.

"Daniel, what the hell is going on?" Jack's strident voice brought Daniel's attention back to the man at his side and he grasped the older man's hand where he'd been fumbling for his weapon.

"Jack- the blood – it wasn't blood at all. It was something that was carried in the blood, the genes of the people Morgan transplanted to this world." He yelled to make himself heard over the screeching noise as a shaft rose up from the floor. "It was the gene, Jack, the one you carry."

"You're talking about that damned Ancient gene?" The two scrambled to their feet, leaning on each other as the quaking gradually subsided. Jack saw that Teal'c had leapt the distance that separated him from the two men and stood strongly protective at their backs, the rest of the team having taken positions within the bend of the stream on the other side of the pedestal.

A firm grip on his arm jerked Daniel back when he took a step towards the waist-high column that had risen from the floor and he glared at his former commanding officer. "Will you let me do my damned job, Jack?" he seethed, pulling futilely at the man's strong hold.

"Daniel, calm down." Leaning close, Jack kept his voice level with obvious effort. "You're still sick, remember?"

"How the hell could I forget?" the archaeologist retorted angrily, eyes flashing. He waved his free arm at the Ancient writing on the pillar Jack's touch had revealed. "You realize what this means? This thing has been here in plain sight this whole time, if you'd all only let me come…"

Jack transferred his grip to his friend's shoulder and turned him so that they stood eye to eye. "Yes, Daniel, I get it. We all get it."

The quiet sorrow in Jack's voice reached down to touch that hidden well of sadness within Daniel's soul and he stilled, breath coming in strangled gasps as he struggled with his emotions. He closed his eyes. "Please." Opening them again, he stared into the brown depths opposite him. "Please, Jack, just let me see it. I need to see it."

Holding Daniel there for a long moment, Jack finally tilted his head in reluctant acceptance. "And then you'll let the doc take a look at you?"

"Yes. I promise."

Jack gave Daniel's shoulders a brief shake and then steadied him as he stepped towards the Ancient column.

In the center of the hexagonal pedestal a smooth niche had been carved out, a shallow recess at the center where something once rested. Something the size and shape of a small round jewel. Daniel's hand moved over the empty space, long fingers dipping lightly into the hollow to follow the curve of the stone.

"The Sangraal was here." Teal'c's deep voice uttered what they all knew.

"Morgan took the weapon from Merlin and hid it, shielded it among people who possessed the Ancient gene, people who would understand its importance," Daniel stated. "The story was corrupted over the years to demand a blood sacrifice from the people to protect them, instead of telling how their genetic connection to the Ancients kept the weapon safe from Merlin."

"What about the water?" Vala's eyes followed the dip and fall of Daniel's fingers as if mesmerized.

Leaning forward to trace the few Ancient words carved around the edge of the platform, Daniel didn't hear her. He breathed a deep sigh.

"Daniel?" Vala persisted.

"Dr. Jackson…" Dr. Lam had moved to stand just outside the stone trough, one hand holding a long-needled syringe. "You really need to be monitored, please."

Daniel shook his head sadly and took a step back, the background hum growing louder again until the sound vibrated through the stone around them.

The SGC personnel looked around, searching for the source of the noise, while Eneas, steadying himself against the bed, raised his eyes to the temple ceiling.

"The Etavia come!"

Seven pairs of eyes flicked to focus on the blinding white light that dropped slowly from the roof, following the expanding brightness as it shifted into fluttering ribbons of light, but Daniel Jackson lowered his chin and squeezed his eyes tightly shut. "Morgan," he whispered.

Suddenly the scene around him shifted and he felt the colors leach towards black and white. He knew he was alone; the team – his friends – gone. Before he opened his eyes he saw her standing in front of him, clothed in white as he'd seen her in Atlantis and in his fragile mind when Forsner had finished torturing him. A warmth against his cheek brought his carefully controlled tears to the surface and he gasped at the loss when it withdrew.

"Daniel."

He stubbornly kept his eyes closed.

"Daniel, the truth will be revealed whether or not you choose to look."

His head snapped up and he glared at the Ascended being before him. "What do you want?"

"To correct error, Daniel Jackson. And to tell you that your search is not yet over."

Daniel laughed. "Of course it's not. It's _never_ over, it's never _going_ to be over."

"Why have you chosen to listen to evil, Daniel Jackson?" She moved closer, the tendrils of her light surrounding him. "To believe those who speak to the dark fears of your heart?"

"I listened to them because they were _right_."

She shook her head. "In evil there is no right."

"Oh, spare me your clever sayings for once," the archaeologist snarled. "You Ascended beings really need to take a class in plain speaking."

Morgan was unmoved by his angry rant and captured his gaze with her own. "You have been faced with many difficult choices during your pursuit of safety for the humans of this galaxy. You have made those choices amidst pain and guilt."

Daniel's stare shifted quickly between Morgan's dark eyes.

"But you have always chosen."

"Well, what else could I do? Do nothing?" he demanded.

Morgan's elegant brows rose. "Many others have chosen to do nothing."

"Well, I can't… it's not…"

A small smile tipped up the edges of Morgan's mouth. "No. You cannot stand by while good men perish, Daniel Jackson." The light grew around them until it was painful. "Know this, Ascension is not lost to those who make the only choice they can."

He squinted and raised one hand against the glare around him. "Choice – what choice?" he yelled as the light consumed him.

"There is only one choice…" The words were all around him, inside him. "Whether you are good, or whether…"

"…you are evil."

A tall shadow stood before him. "I'm what?" a familiar sarcastic voice snapped.

Daniel smiled, a true smile, and realized that the dark place that had threatened to billow out to fill every part of him had been consumed in the fiery blaze of light. He'd stopped shaking and his skin seemed to fit for the first time in a very long time. "Not you, Jack," he responded, laughing.

"Oh," the grey-haired man looked closely at his friend. "Okay. So, who's evil?"

Another chuckle shook Daniel's frame and he placed both hands on Jack's shoulders. "Never mind."

"The Ascended being has gone," Teal'c remarked, dark gaze prodding the shadows in the empty temple.

"She did what she came here to do," Daniel agreed.

Mitchell eyed his teammate warily. "And what exactly was that?"

Daniel hoped his gratitude was clearly visible in the look he directed at the new leader of SG-1. "To remind me of something. And put me in my place."

Cam hesitated, not sure whether he was hearing what he wanted to hear, or if Daniel had really made his way back to them. "And where's that, exactly?"

Daniel shrugged and shoved his hands into his pockets. "Here. With you guys. Chasing after Ancient clues. Looking for the place she hid Merlin's weapon." He turned to meet Jack's worried frown. "At least for now."

Vala punched him lightly in the shoulder and Daniel exaggerated his reaction, smiling down at her. Sam stepped closer and ran one hand gently up and down his arm and Teal'c, well, Teal'c only angled his head in a slight bow, but the relief was obvious, for once, on his wide features. SG-1, old and new, stepped across the stone trough where the soothing water still flowed towards the waiting care of Dr. Lam, but Jack hurried close and tugged on Daniel's sleeve before Carolyn could intervene.

"Hey, she didn't happen to give you a big, honking clue, did she?"

Daniel shook his head sadly, "Sorry, Jack."

"Damn."

**A/N: One last chapter to follow very soon which will include Daniel's debriefing and an epilogue. Thank you again for stopping by and for leaving me a note.**


	35. Chapter 35

Chapter Thirty-Five

"Daniel Jackson."

The archaeologist looked up and squinted through the gloom of his office towards the doorway. "Hey, Teal'c." He glanced down at the numbers in the lower right hand corner of his monitor and watched as they switched from 20:17 to 20:18. Intertwining his fingers over the keyboard, he straightened his arms and pressed his palms out, luxuriating in the feel of stiff joints popping all up and down his arms. He closed his eyes and let his head fall back, alternately rolling his neck and shrugging each shoulder, smiling slightly to himself as the tension fled away.

The Jaffa walked slowly forward through the dimly lit room until he stood just on the other side of Daniel's desk. Although his hands were clasped solidly behind his back in a very familiar gesture, the fall of his ceremonial robes always seemed to surround Teal'c with an aura of royalty and Daniel's smile widened. Teal'c had looked at home in the dull colored fatigues of the SGC from his first moment on base, but these soft robes – wearing them had a way of bringing out the alien's true power, nobility, and strength of spirit as no other clothing ever could.

"Getting ready to head out?"

"Indeed. Master Bra'tac and Vala Mal Doran await me in the 'gate room."

Daniel nodded in a quick acknowledgement, a brief flash of regret lowering his chin so that the light from his desk lamp turned his glasses into opaque pools that shielded his expressive eyes. The team was splitting up again. Even if it would only be for a week or so, Daniel regretted the necessity. Sam had taken off with the Odyssey to work on the circuits they'd damaged on their hell-bent for leather trek across the galaxy to get to Hosta on time. They owed Emerson at least that much. Jack was back in Washington dealing with the standard political fallout that always seemed to accompany a rescue mission these days. He shook his head, still unable to reconcile a government that attempted to balance costs of materials and resources with the value of human lives. Then again, Daniel smiled to himself, he was certainly too close to this particular 'issue' to have any sort of detached logic to bring to the problem, since he was the one who had to be rescued – again. And now Teal'c and Vala had committed themselves to a week among the Jaffa of Bren-Nek-Mok with SG-3 and 9, continuing relief efforts and helping rebuild the devastated society.

He closed his eyes. Morgan had lightened the burdens of his memories of the time spent in both Ba'al's and Thellesan's hands, but some images would never leave him. He allowed the vision of a young Jaffa's dark tortured eyes fill his thoughts, body and spirit already broken beneath the Goa'uld's blunt hand, and uttered another inner plea for forgiveness before he turned his attention outward towards his friend. Standing, Daniel moved to the end of his desk to settle his hip there, arms crossed. He was going to miss his large friend's restful presence, and, if he were honest, Vala's incessant energy. "Vala stole a few hearts there among the people of Bren-Nek-Mok."

"And I will endeavor to assure that she steals nothing else."

Daniel snorted in brief amusement before resting a more serious glance on Teal'c's face. "Kre'bat and his people will make great additions to the new free Jaffa. Especially considering what they've been through." He couldn't help the bitterness that colored his speech.

Teal'c's head tilted slightly. "It has been an eventful few weeks, Daniel Jackson."

Another smile chased the shadows from Daniel's eyes. "You just love the whole understatement thing, don't you?"

The past few days had been healing both for Daniel and the team, peppered with large, boisterous meals and very quiet, very private discussions. After the first day Sam had been able to stop touching him every few minutes, the need to remind herself that he was back and well slowly fading. Daniel didn't begrudge her the tactile cues; they'd been joined at the hip for ten years and her big-sister-protectiveness never came with the same sense of superiority and brashness that Jack's always did. And Jack had gotten a chance to exorcise some of his own inner demons, Daniel reflected - he'd watched the gradual relaxation of his friend's expression that brought with it the impression that General Jack O'Neill might, finally, be okay with this new SG-1 and its leader.

And Daniel had allowed the friendship and warmth to fill up some of his empty spaces in ways that he'd been denying himself for quite some time; the untroubled, glib façade finally dropping away as he let some of the self-betrayal and distrust go and let them all back in. Or, rather, he admitted, let some of them in for the first time. He still had fences to mend with Mitchell – he knew the Air Force officer had been waiting, patiently, until Daniel was ready to revisit those hours aboard Ba'al's ha'tak. As more time passed, Daniel was more and more reluctant to go there.

A slight movement of air brought Daniel's eyes back to his friend's. "Sorry," he murmured, "what can I do for you, Teal'c?"

Another tilt of the head brought immediate forgiveness for Daniel's distraction. "It is necessary that I know that you are fully recovered before I leave."

Ducking his head at his teammate's concern, Daniel shoved his hands into his pockets. "I'm fine – really, this time I _am_ fine," he added quickly. "I don't know how she got away with it, but Morgan burned out the residual effects of the sarcophagus when we melded back in the Hostan temple." He shrugged. "I guess Dr. Lam has another 'miraculous come-back' to log in my medical file." Hopefully the IOA wouldn't use this as one more excuse to pull him from off-world missions – the extensive debriefing he and Col. Mitchell had been 'invited' to in Washington would take place in two days and he hoped the international representatives were ready for a fight.

Teal'c's nod seemed both an acceptance of Daniel's claim of fitness as well as an understanding of what the archaeologist did not say. "Very well. I have no wish to return to the SGC because an emergency has occurred that has left you unconscious – again." The lift to the Jaffa's left eyebrow was decidedly playful.

Daniel kept his own game-face on. "Hey, Vala's going with you this time so you should have no worries on my account." He waited a beat. "Maybe you should watch yourself."

Teal'c looked off in the subtle way that said, if he'd been a different type of man, he'd be slapping Daniel's back in the shared joke. But after only a moment the mood in the darkened office had changed and Daniel felt a heaviness settle around them. He stiffened, anticipating, a frown wrinkling his forehead.

"It was but fifteen days ago that you and I spoke here concerning the future of the Jaffa."

"I remember," Daniel admitted softly. It seemed like a year had passed.

"You said to me then that I must continue to fight for my people, even through bitterness and defeat." Teal'c angled his body so that the two faced each other, and his dark gaze was piercing, even in the low light from the single lamp.

"I did."

Teal'c bowed deeply. "You were correct."

"Teal'c, I-"

One large hand clasped Daniel's shoulder. "You have fought your own battles against these enemies, Daniel Jackson." His grip tightened and released. "Great battles leave great scars – not always where others can easily see them." Teal'c's voice dipped, barely ghosting across the arms-length distance between the two men. "Before I go with Bra'tac to discuss the future of the Jaffa with my brothers, I would have you know that I regret that I did not see those wounds that you have carried."

The frown grew as Daniel struggled against his emotions. The sense of utter failure, of a black abyss that awaited just one misstep before it consumed him, and his belief in the gradual darkening of his soul had receded with Morgan's illuminating touch, yet the memory of these feelings remained. But now they were balanced by others – the light of humanity returning to Sarah Gardner's eyes, reclaiming Vala in a dusty warehouse, Ry'ac – a child condemned to a life of servitude by the parasite within him – married and happy. Daniel had made a fundamental mistake, one that haunted his life from childhood, and had focused on the catastrophes that had heaped together over the past few years, narrowing his view of his contribution to the world around him to the dead faces of friends and colleagues and the blood on his own hands. Just as he'd admitted to Jack after his first encounter with the Ori, just as he'd whispered to Vala on the pier of the lost city of Atlantis, he'd let the loneliness and fear inside.

"Don't blame yourself, Teal'c," Daniel felt a wry grin pull up one side of his mouth. "I'm good at hiding – or didn't you listen to Dr. Lam's report about my super-power?"

Teal'c allowed the comment to pass, locking his gaze onto his human friend's. "A true brother would not have been so easily fooled, Daniel Jackson."

Daniel felt the implied apology deep within, felt it fill him like a strong liquor, bringing brightness and warmth. Before he could react, the Jaffa reached out, his right arm bent at the elbow. "Know that I consider you no less my brother than those with whom I shared the slavery of the Goa'uld. I shall not fail you again."

"Teal'c, you didn't…" Something in his teammate's expression convinced Daniel to let the thought die away. He clasped the outstretched arm and let Teal'c pull him into a one-handed embrace, his friend's strength welcome beneath his hands.

After a moment, Teal'c released his hold and stepped back and Daniel did his best to ignore the moisture in his eyes. The Jaffa bowed his head. "We will continue to hope, Daniel Jackson."

Daniel nodded. "Yes. Yes we will."

vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

Shaking a few flakes of snow from his black wool coat, Daniel stomped booted feet on the small front porch and waited, a slight frown teasing a line between his brows. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea, he thought, turning to look up at the lowering sky, grey clouds packed full of snow hovering just out of reach overhead. The sports car in the driveway lay under a thin white blanket – to Daniel's experienced eyes it looked like it needed it, huddled there against the background of a Colorado winter. It was a car made for sunshine, straight, long roads, and the wind in your hair, not the twists and turns and harsh mountain weather of the Rockies.

Daniel felt the warmth rush out of the little house and swirl around his legs when the door opened at his back, and he turned, a cautious smile brightening his face.

"Hi."

"Jackson?"

He shrugged, suddenly at a loss for why he was doing this.

Cameron Mitchell opened the door wider and gestured with the folded magazine in his hand. "Come on in before you freeze."

Stepping carefully onto the hallway rug and wiping his feet, Daniel shifted to one side to allow Mitchell to pass by and lead him inside. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything," he began, eyes taking in the still steaming cup that sat on a table beside a brown leather recliner, a newspaper piled haphazardly on the floor to one side. He'd only been in his teammate's house once before, when Mitchell had the team over for poker night – something Daniel knew the former pilot had hoped would become a new SG-1 tradition. Standing in the doorway that separated the living room from the small kitchen, Daniel distractedly pulled off his gloves and wondered why it never caught on.

"Here, let me have that," Cam reached out and Daniel hurriedly dropped the coat from his shoulders. "And, to answer your question, nope." That one word contained just enough of a sigh to draw the archaeologist's attention from his own thoughts. "Just hanging out, trying to catch up with what's happening here on good old Earth for a change." He moved into the room and laid the damp wool coat across the arm of the sofa closest to the weakly burning fire. "I don't want to be out of the loop when we go meet the bigwigs in DC tomorrow."

Removing his glasses, Daniel folded them between his fingers, to wait for them recover from the temperature change.

"You want some coffee?" Mitchell shifted awkwardly towards the kitchen, wondering why he suddenly sounded like a guy on his first date, not someone welcoming an unexpected friend on a snowy morning. Of course, it might be because he'd never really spent a lot of one-on-one time with Jackson before, never did the beer and pizza nights that O'Neill had no end of stories about. But it probably had more to do with recently finding himself standing between his drugged-out teammate's pointed staff weapon and a Goa'uld sarcophagus.

"Uh, no – thanks," Daniel replied quickly, "I didn't plan on staying."

Mitchell studied the other man carefully. The black boots he was wearing were sturdy, clearly meant for a Colorado winter, but also elegant, up-scale. The dark grey trousers and thick white sweater also looked warm, but too dressy to fit a casual, spur-of-the-moment visit to a co-worker on their day off. And Jackson seemed nervous, edgy, his long fingers playing with his glasses even after the lenses were clear of steam. "Okay, Daniel Jackson is refusing coffee; did you come to tell me I was dying? Break it to me gently, whatever it is," he joked, trying to dispel the uneasy vibe radiating from his teammate.

The answering smile came and went quickly, and Daniel replaced his glasses. "Funny you should…" he started, "…I was just on my way…" He met SG-1's leader's puzzled stare and sighed softly. Habits of a lifetime, an ingrained sense of seclusion, and his usual retreat from sympathetic eyes almost cut off Daniel's access to the right words. This shouldn't be so hard, and yet it was. "I was wondering, if you're not busy, if you'd like to go for a ride. There's something I'd like to show you."

"Look, you don't owe me anything, Jackson," Mitchell quickly replied, hoping to head off any kind of misguided gush of gratitude from the ordinarily well-guarded linguist. "I didn't do anything any one of the others wouldn't have done – and probably better." He'd said some nasty things to his struggling teammate aboard Ba'al's vessel, words that he knew had cut an already wounded man, words that were kindled, if he were being completely honest, not just from a desire to save Jackson, but also from what he recognized as a deep well of hunger within himself. That need to be needed, to belong with SG-1 as securely as the others resurfaced every time Jack O'Neill paid a visit and showed him the unbreakable bond that existed among the team's original members, but especially between the crusty general and the stubborn scholar.

He understood, rationally, that he was accepted, his leadership acknowledged. _His_ SG-1 worked well together, fought tooth and nail for each other, and would stand up to anything to keep a teammate from harm. Loyal, devoted, determined to win, to come home alive, to leave no one behind, to use their talents – individual and combined – to safeguard their world, their loved-ones. But clever phrases Cam had voiced to O'Neill in the commissary before the rescue mission notwithstanding, Mitchell wanted more – he wanted what the original leader of SG-1 had – all of it, all of the back-biting, snarky put-downs, the shared jokes, the one-word conversations. He felt the warmth on the fringes of the team's incendiary friendship, but was still excluded from its heart. And no well-rehearsed speech about thanks and indebtedness that might spout from Jackson's lips would let him in.

Daniel had been watching. "I know."

The two words that dropped into the silence of his living room stopped Cam's inner dialogue and he noticed the slightly raised eyebrows and the understanding playing over Daniel's face. _Great, now the guy was a mind-reader._

"You know."

The archaeologist shrugged with studied nonchalance. "It's what we do," he stated firmly.

Something suddenly warmed within him and Cam smiled. "I guess it is." Those four words felt so much better than any heartfelt platitudes.

"So," Daniel buried his hands in his pockets and bounced up on his toes, "are we going?"

Mitchell eyed his teammate's attire. "Do I have to get all dressed up, too?"

The answering smile didn't quite make it to Daniel's eyes. "No. No one there will care what you're wearing."

Quickly securing the glass doors around his fireplace, Mitchell handed Daniel his coat. "Let's go."

The deeply grooved tires of Daniel's Jeep held tightly to the curves of the road, the inch of snow that had already fallen marred by other drivers before them. A few flakes still trickled from the sky, just enough to frustrate the windshield wipers even set on the lowest intermittent setting. Mitchell drew his sheepskin lined bomber jacket around him, tightening the zipper at his neck as Daniel grew the vehicle to a halt on the shoulder and switched it off. The two sat still for a long moment, and Cam simply gazed out at the quiet scene, waiting for Daniel to make the first move.

"It's not far." Daniel removed his seatbelt and opened the door, and Cam was waiting, standing beside the cooling Jeep by the time he'd made his way around the front.

They walked side by side, not hurrying. The snow made it easier, Mitchell observed, covering everything with an even blanket, letting visitors forget that they were treading on cherished memories. In sedate rows, or unevenly in larger mounds and figures, the headstones were uniformly mantled by white, but the archaeologist's course never wavered – this was a well-known path. At the top of a small rise, beneath the shadow of a tender-branched aspen, they halted.

Daniel knelt quickly to brush one gloved hand across a small granite square. Cam glanced down to see a spray of evergreen branches entwined with bright-berried holly still peeking through the snowfall, as if they'd been placed there within the past few days. He raised his eyes to read the words engraved on the simple headstone and swallowed quickly. "Charles Tyler O'Neill." The years that compassed the dates set beneath it were much too few. He watched his teammate pause, one hand atop the tiny monument now clear of snow, and offered up his own short prayer.

A sigh brought Cam's gaze back to Daniel's hands where they'd fallen to sweep the snow from a flat, bronze plaque set close beside the small boy's gravestone. A few lines of writing, clearly Ancient Egyptian, were all that decorated the 4" x 8" marker, and while Mitchell couldn't translate the language, he could guess what they said. Jackson dropped his head, unheeding of the cold wetness seeping into his trousers where he knelt, sitting back on his heels, in the snow. Moments later he stood and absently brushed at his knees.

"Jack offered, not long after I'd buried Sha're on Abydos," he stated, eyes still firmly glued to the reminder of his loss. "He said it would be good for me, to have a place to go to remember her on this world. And I think it was good for him, to think that Charlie would have someone else to remember him, too."

Mitchell swallowed again and nodded, moved by what his teammate was willing to share. "What does it say?" he finally asked.

"Sha're Jackson," he murmured. "Even if that wasn't really her name as she'd recognize it, it was who she was to me." Daniel's smile held a memory. "And beneath it says: 'My heart is light.'" Cam saw him raise his eyes towards the dark sky. "I remember once sitting in my room at one of my foster homes, looking out my window over the cemetery on the next hill. I remember thinking to myself of what a waste of land it was to use it up on people who would never know." The smile returned. "It wasn't until later that I realized that cemeteries weren't for the dead, they were for the living, those of us left behind."

A thought niggled at Mitchell's brain. "So, do you believe in heaven, Jackson?"

Daniel turned towards him, seemingly surprised by the question.

Mitchell continued. "With all you've seen, all the so-called gods you've encountered out there. Where does heaven come in?"

His teammate shook his head. "I don't know."

"You've been Ascended, lived on a higher plane of existence. Is that what's waiting for all of us when we die – Ascendance or nothing?" He'd asked a similar question when Jackson stood shivering in front of the sarcophagus, but he hoped that memory was cloudy behind the bright blue eyes.

"I'd like to think there's a place of peace, a place where we can finally rest." The archaeologist offered after a moment. "I hope that Sha're is there, and Charlie. My parents. Kowalsky. Robert. Martouf." He lowered his eyes to the markers that were slowly being re-covered by the now thickly falling snow. "I told you she was my first mistake."

Mitchell's breath was forced out of him in a grunt. He remembered. Daniel remembered what they'd said to each other on the ship. "It doesn't… I don't," now that they were here looking down at the physical reminder of his friend's grief he didn't know if he could handle it.

"I guess in some ways I'll always blame myself that she was taken by the Goa'uld," Daniel went on as if Mitchell hadn't spoken. "I'll consider myself responsible – for her slavery, her death, as well as for a lot of the other people who have suffered since I first opened the 'gate." He shrugged again. "It's a part of who I am." He turned his body towards the other man, his face open, without masks, without that studied impassive manner Cam had learned to expect. "And sometimes- now and then- I'm going to need a good friend to remind me of the truth."

"Bring you back to Earth," Cam forced some levity into air that was heavy with emotion.

"Just another 'feeble, flawed human'," Daniel nodded, realizing his offer of a connection, a deeper friendship, had been accepted.

"Definitely not an angel."

"Definitely."

The moment passed and the two men felt the bitter cold rush in around them and turned back towards the car. They trudged easily through the growing storm.


	36. Epilogue

Epilogue

Jack had stopped listening shortly after the stuffed shirts started picking their way through Daniel's report. He'd been through this already, days after they'd brought the miraculously healthy archaeologist back from his most recent meeting with the glowy-types on Hosta, and he knew backwards and forwards the story of Morgan Le Fay and her intent to hide Merlin's weapon away among a bunch of people with the ATA gene as well as her failed attempt to consign the legendary sorcerer to a system of planets that was akin to an Ancient padded cell. He and Landry had worked with Daniel for hours making sure that the archaeologist's written report had included – and left out – all the integral pieces, even over his sometimes explosive disagreement. Good thing that promotion to general came with thick skin and the inability to take no for an answer – they weren't about to let Daniel fall to his own bloated sense of culpability.

Jack flipped the pencil back and forth across his knuckles, stifling, once again, the urge to fold one page of his notebook into sharp corners and start a game of table-football with Mitchell – he knew the Air Force lieutenant colonel was just as bored and annoyed as he was. Unfortunately, anything he instigated to try to drain off his rising aggravation at this point would be liable to irritate the already pissy archaeologist to his left, something it would be in Jack's best interests to avoid. Plus, the whole 'fidgety-toddler' image he'd developed so well at the SGC just didn't fit with the dress uniform with the shiny stars on the shoulders. He wondered – not for the first time – if Hammond hadn't anticipated that reaction when he'd encouraged Jack to accept the promotion in the first place. Spoil sport.

All of these Capitol Hill committee rooms looked alike. Jack let his gaze wander over the dark paneled walls, the flags of the member nations alternating with layers of plush draperies behind the seated IOA members, royal blue carpeting doing its best to absorb the yammering voices or anticipated shoe pounding of the representatives, no matter how shrill the rants of the French delegate might become. His eyes narrowed at the sneering blonde man, considering whether or not another off-world trip was in order to remind the blithering blow-hard about the differences between sitting in his comfortable embassy eating croissants and reading reports and actually setting foot on alien soil. Another few hours of terrified flight from flesh-eating bugs would do that guy a world of good.

The Chinese delegate looked worried. Her uncomfortable glances towards his teammate hadn't been lost on Jack – he remembered Daniel's careful approval of the slight woman when the team had returned from their encounter at the Gamma Site, but, then again, Daniel had liked Colonel Chekov, too. The new Russian representative, Colonel Navroski, was too GQ for Jack's comfort – tall, dark haired, no more than forty-five – Jack unconsciously straightened his shoulders and sucked in his gut. Russian military types were supposed to be short, squat villains who sounded like they were intent on 'making trouble for moose and squirrel,' not soft-spoken diplomats: Jack didn't trust the guy. He glanced over at Daniel and was surprised to see a dangerous glitter in his friend's eye. Uh oh. Jack made an effort to focus.

"I'm sorry Dr. Jackson, but this all sounds more like a fairy tale than a mission report, so you can understand our… confusion… over this..." Jean LaPierre flapped his hands above the thick folder resting before him on the table. "Ah," he sighed dramatically, "words fail me."

"We wish." Jack barely heard the muttered response from Mitchell where he sat to Daniel's left, and he was fairly positive that Daniel was too angry to even register his teammate's attempt at lightening the mood. Daniel had been remarkably patient about having the backseat drivers of the IOA interfering with his life of late, but listening to the idiots continually disparage his conclusions about Merlin, the weapon they were seeking, and the Ancients was taking its toll. His blue-eyed buddy was about to blow.

Reaching out one hand to lay it lightly across the sleeve of Daniel's well-pressed suit, Jack cleared his throat meaningfully. Suddenly, all the eyes in the room were on him. Well, all except for Daniel's of course, Jack noted, smiling wryly when he glanced down to see that Mitchell had a restraining hand on the archaeologist in a move that mirrored his own. He wimpered silently to himself. Daniel would make them pay for this.

"Look," Major General Jack O'Neill began, "for the past few years the SGC has been pretty darn wrapped up in fairy tales and legends. Gods, demons, angels, swords in stones, heck we've been wandering down the yellow-brick road since Daniel Jackson first opened the Stargate eleven years ago." A little walk down memory lane never hurt, he smirked inwardly. "So now we're talking about Ancients who called themselves wizards and sorceresses – how is that such a big leap from the Norse gods being little grey aliens or Nerdy- "

"- Nirrti -"

"- whatever, actually being a snake-headed goddess wannabe who created a bunch of oozy, leprous X-Men?" Jack leaned forward and gestured towards the panel. "If you guys are getting to the point where all of this stuff is becoming too much for you, hey, just let me know and we'll recruit some new blood to stand in the background and tell the people going toe-to-toe with unbelievable crap every damned day just what they can and can't do."

"I can live with that," Mitchell piped up quickly.

"General O'Neill," Richard Woolsey intoned smoothly, trying to take control of the hearing again, "I believe I speak for all of the members of the IOA when I say that-"

"No."

Jack shifted his weight uncomfortably. He recognized that tone.

"Daniel?"

Well, great. Jack closed his mouth and sat back against the thin cushion of his chair. The glasses had been discarded on the table, and Dr. Daniel Jackson had risen from his seat, radiating righteous fury and barely controlled spite behind a thin veneer of academia and Armani. No one in his right mind would try to contain Daniel in "snit" mode; the guy could kill you with his brain and flay skin with his tongue when he was in a good mood, let alone after the mission from hell and a coffee cup that had been empty for two hours. He met Mitchell's widened eyes and settled in, consigning himself to the role of "piece-picker-upper" with the other Air Force officer once Daniel had said all that he wanted to say.

"No, Mr. Woolsey," Daniel continued, long fingers of one hand splayed on the report before him. "Your lack of insight in the area of Ascension has been quite obvious of late, so I believe that I speak for everyone on _this_ side of the table when I ask that you actually _listen_, for once."

Woolsey had the good grace to know when he was beaten, and gestured briefly for Daniel to continue. As if he wouldn't have anyway, Jack snorted.

"You've seen Lt. Col. Carter and Dr. Lam's findings on the engineered 'water' that was discovered on both Hosta and the worlds of the Islands of Fortune system, and its potential benefits both medically and in dealing with the Priors' mental control. These discoveries in themselves speak to the underlying truth of the Hostans' mythos concerning their relocation to their current home planet by the Ascended being known as Ganos Lal, or Morgan Le Fay, as well as their role in the hiding of Merlin's weapon – a truth you must concede even if you continue to completely disregard my own personal dealings with this entity." Jack listened to the bitter tone of Daniel's words and felt the familiar blossom of indignant protectiveness within his own gut. His former teammate may have accepted that his own testimony concerning the Ancients would never be accepted at face value by these idiots, but then he was a better man than Jack O'Neill. Much better. Jack would have gladly torn each of them a new one up close and personally.

"You've also all been briefed concerning the ill-advised 'research' of Dr. Forsner – someone whom the IOA itself vetted – and the results of his unauthorized experimentation." At least some of the delegates had the common sense to look away, reluctantly embarrassed that their insistence on probing Daniel's mind had almost ended with his death. "Further examination of my neural responses shows no trace of any higher brain activity the likes of which were observed in both Khalek," he stared piercingly at Woolsey, "and Orlin."

"Now we've," Daniel gestured quickly at Mitchell and Jack at his sides, "explained the significance of the search for Merlin's weapon again and again to this committee, and you yourselves have acknowledged the vital importance of finding a way to protect Earth from the Ori, even if _your_ pursuits in this direction have been both reckless and ignorant." Jack watched the momentary bridling of the usually catered-to international delegates and mentally applauded as Daniel dismissed the reactions and continued without a breath. "Your efforts resulting in, in no particular order, airmen's deaths, destruction of SGC property, the potentially fatal wounding of Col. Mitchell during the Hostan Tegera, and the loss of dozens of prospective allies among the Jaffa of Bren-Nek-Mok..." He hesitated, eyes closing against an unwilling memory.

"Not to mention," Mitchell spoke up when Daniel took a moment to regain control, "almost losing the guy – not once, but twice - that is the only one who has a clue about defeating the Ori and is most likely to solve this Ancient riddle." Jack nodded in agreement.

"So," Daniel picked up the thread of his argument, his tone suddenly extremely neutral and mockingly light. "Tell me, just how does the IOA intend to proceed? Are you going to insist on interfering when you don't even have a tiny grasp on what we're up against out there, or are you going to get the hell out of my way and let me do my job? Because," Daniel smiled tightly and blinked in what Jack had always labeled his 'failed attempt at innocence' expression, "I can guarantee that, without the assistance of the Ancients, _you will not succeed_."

A cold shiver ran up O'Neill's spine as Daniel very carefully lowered himself back into his seat. He watched as a similar reaction spread through the committee opposite him. Faces paled, hands stilled, and eyebrows rose in shock at what the IOA representatives quickly realized was a not so subtly implied threat from the bland, harmless academic. The formerly Ascended bland, harmless academic.

"Dr. Jackson," the Chinese representative recovered first, "are you saying that if you, as the closest tie we have to the Ancients, are not allowed free rein to pursue your mission to discover Merlin's weapon that the Ascended beings will withdraw their support from the humans of this galaxy?"

Daniel leaned forward. "Madame Representative." Jack frowned and met Mitchell's worried glance again at the archaeologist's cold tone. "I am saying that, for good or ill, no matter how anyone in this room might feel about it," steel-blue eyes swept over the gathered bureaucrats, "the Ancients have made their choice." The glare clouded momentarily as it turned inward. "And I've made mine." Jack was about to reach out towards his friend again when Daniel blinked once and straightened. "It is time for the IOA to do the same."

The uncomfortable silence stretched on while fingers tapped and eyes shifted under the focused attention of the most stubborn man in any galaxy. Woolsey recovered first, and after adjusting his glasses in a move that Jack had often seen in his teammate when he was playing for time, the thin man opened his mouth only to shut it again when a blue-suited aide strode into the committee room and handed the man a sealed envelope. The general watched, eyes narrowing, as Woolsey's face blanched at something the aide whispered before the man disappeared as quickly as he'd come. The chairman of the IOA carefully slit the envelope and shaking hands pulled out one sheet of paper. Huh, Jack thought. Looks like someone's strings were about to be yanked pretty damned hard.

Woolsey cleared his throat and visibly tried to pull himself together. "Ladies and gentlemen, I have been instructed to read this statement word for word."

Jack's lips twitched and he finally let himself relax. This should be good.

"'The United States government would like to remind the committee of its complete faith and trust in the ability of the commanders of Homeworld Security and the SGC, in the persons of Generals O'Neill and Landry, and in their personnel, to perform all duties necessary to ensure the protection of this country and this world. We would not seek to interfere with these commands, especially in this time of political turmoil and uncertainty and threat within the galaxy. I encourage the members of the IOA, especially the Unites States' representative Chairman Woolsey,'" Jack noticed the tension in Woolsey's face as he was forced to utter words that left a nasty taste in the bureaucrat's mouth, "'to affirm that the members of SG-1, under the command of Lt. Col. Cameron Mitchell, including Lt. Col. Samantha Carter, Teal'c, Vala Mal Doran, and especially Dr. Daniel Jackson, have this board's complete confidence as they seek out a weapon to protect our world and its allies from the Ori threat unless and until some other action is deemed to be required.'" Woolsey swallowed his own obvious disagreement and, still reading, slowly lowered the letter to the desk in front of him. "'This government regrets any harm that has come to Dr. Jackson from the interference of this civilian advisory board, and promises a swift reprisal against all those found to be have consented to any unauthorized experimentation. Letters signaling my intent to fully prosecute those responsible, and to support the SGC and its command in all staffing and personnel decisions, have been today forwarded to the heads of states of each of the IOA member nations." Bright brown eyes locked with Jack's. "Signed, President Henry Hayes.'"

Not long after, the party broke up. Hands were shaken, insincere compliments on a job well done were exchanged, and Daniel's diplomatic side resurfaced in time to brush off dinner invitations from both the Chinese and Russian representatives without leaving bruised egos. Mitchell, Daniel, and Jack found themselves strolling down the marble steps of the office building in the watery winter sunshine, a little bemused and a lot relieved. Jack, his face already shaded by the brim of his cover, slipped on his sunglasses. "Well, well, well. That went… well, don't ya think?" He smiled smugly.

"Somebody likes you, Jackson," Mitchell commented, slapping his teammate soundly on the back.

"Oh, yeah," Jack agreed. "Once Hayes had spoken it was all over but the shouting." He looked over at his too quiet teammate. "What, Daniel, you don't like winning a hand against the blow-hards for a change?"

Daniel shook his head, frowning, as he concentrated on the steep staircase. "You think I just won something, Jack?"

The lingering bitterness in his tone halted the two military officers in their tracks. It took a moment for Daniel to realize that he stood alone on the sidewalk and he turned a shrouded gaze back up the steps on his friends.

Jack recovered first and sighed dramatically, including Mitchell in his customary eye-roll. "Yes, Daniel," he stated with evident patience, "I think you just won some uninterrupted, uninterfered with time back with SG-1 – going where you want, when you want, searching for … that thing –" he chose his words carefully, glancing at the scurrying figures of Capitol Hill regulars around them. "Isn't that what you wanted?" He hurried to catch up with his old friend.

"Only 'unless and until some other action is deemed to be required,'" the archaeologist enunciated cynically, echoing Hayes' carefully worded speech. "Sounds more like they're just going to be waiting for the next excuse to interfere to me. Especially Woolsey – I'm pretty sure he hates my guts even more than ever."

Jack stepped beside his still seething friend. "Daniel, they're smarmy, second-guessing, bureaucratic assholes – that's what they do." He placed a hand on Daniel's shoulder and shook him. "They're out of your hair for the moment, consider it a win." The general watched for that moment of capitulation, for the spark to return to Daniel's eye, and then slapped his hands together. "And I say that calls for steaks – big, red, juicy meat…"

"I'm up for that," Mitchell seconded the notion, joining the two. "Our plane doesn't leave until 22:00 from Reagan, and I'm sure a sophisticated, man-about-town like yourself, General, won't steer us wrong."

Jack deliberately over-did the double take and smiled widely. "'Steer' us wrong – good one, Mitchell."

"I try, sir."

Gesturing to the waiting limo, Jack raised his eyebrows. "Daniel?"

The archaeologist looked long and hard at the two men in uniform at his sides. "As long as neither of my two self-appointed mother-hens intends to cut my meat for me, I'm in."

Cam and Jack exchanged a smile as Daniel leaned over to slide across the upholstered seat. "Dinner with a healthy, non-glowy, sarcastic archaeologist – my favorite," Jack quipped, holding out his hand.

Mitchell clasped the offered hand and nodded. "Couldn't have said it better myself, sir."

The End (finally)

**A/N: Again, many thanks to those who've read, reviewed, favorited, or otherwise peeked their noses into this very long, very drawn out story. I sincerely hope you've enjoyed reading it half as much as I've enjoyed writing it.**


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